


a study in stormclouds

by Resamille



Series: a park in amsterdam [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Falling in Love (again), M/M, Magical Creatures, Multi, Regaining Memories, Reincarnation, Self-Harm, Shapeshifting, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-24 01:19:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17091383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Resamille/pseuds/Resamille
Summary: They come together unexpectedly. They each have memories: a friend once held dear, now gone. The trail has led them here, and maybe, along the way, they remember each other too.Or: Over twenty years ago, witch law decreed a split between magic and non-magic worlds. Five humans were the first casualties in the protest. Their five soulmates were left to pick up the pieces.





	a study in stormclouds

**Author's Note:**

> i. i don't even know what this is anymore. here's the furry kenma au. take this shit.  
> this was the first hq fic i started but it's taken me about four months to finish LMAO so yeah. i just want it done an posted. tbh this fic is more like a setup/backstory for a lot of future lil snippets i'll probs write.
> 
> also disregard all of the ships listed on ao3 lbr i just ship them all.
> 
> warning for some explicit sexual content but there's never more than a couple sentences at a time so I didn't figure it warranted an explicit rating.
> 
> here's my second love letter fic to amsterdam
> 
> I STARTED THIS FIC BC I WANTED TO WRITE SUGA IN THE MOONLIGHT IN A FOREST HOW DID WE GET TO THIS. this fic is just. so goddman self indulgent.

“Don't fall in.”

Tobio starts, spine snapping straight where he sits on the edge of the canal, feet dangling towards the water.

“If you do, I might just have to eat you while you're vulnerable,” Tooru continues in a drawl.

Tobio turns over his shoulder to glare vehemently at Tooru. His eyes are rimmed with red from tears. He doesn't bother wiping at them as he turns away.

Oh, Tooru realizes. It's one of those days. Can't say he didn't see it coming, if he's honest. With a resigned sort of tug in his chest, Tooru plops down next to Tobio. Tobio sniffs, and Tooru sees his eyes flick to the side to judge Tooru for a moment.

“I'm not really equipped to deal with you like this,” Tooru admits.

“Then _leave_ ,” Tobio snaps.

“No can do,” Tooru says with a bit of cheer that quickly fades. “It's... better not to be alone. Trust me.” He thinks of the scars on his thighs. “Wouldn't want you doing anything too rash.”

Tobio pulls in a shaky breath. His voice, cracked and scratchy with sobs, is so quiet that Tooru has to lean closer to hear him. “I just...” A soft hiccup. “I miss him.”

Tooru drags in his own breath. He wraps an arm around Tobio, pulling him closer, and Tobio lets him, slumping against Tooru's side.

“I know,” Tooru whispers, and turns to rest his cheek against Tobio's head. “I know you do. We both do.”

Tobio knows it's not the same—that Tooru will never miss Hinata in the same way—but it's okay, because it doesn't matter _who_ , just that Tooru knows that same pain. They've all lost someone, all those years ago. Time doesn't always make the wounds any less fresh.

Tooru feels a sharp tug of desperation and longing in his heart.

Hajime is gone. Just like the rest.

 

_Daichi's lips drift over soft skin. He stops to pull sensitive flesh between his teeth, biting until there are marks scattered across pale thighs. Fingers card through his hair in response, tugging Daichi up._

_Daichi goes willingly, pressing close until he can feel the warmth of another body against his own chest._

_They're both breathing hard, and Daichi's pulled down into a bruising kiss. The words are whispered against his lips: “I love you, Daichi.”_

_In turn, Daichi answers: “I love you, too, S—”_

Daichi is dragged from the dream by his alarm. He blinks accusingly at the foreign ceiling.

So the dreams are back. That's great. And distinctly unhelpful.

If only he could get a _name_.

Daichi reaches for his phone and turns off the alarm. Well. At least he's here. That's a start. Halfway across the world, in Amsterdam, because he's—quite literally—following his dreams. It's the only clue he's gotten so far.

Something's drawing him here. He doesn't know what, or who, it is, but he's determined to find out. The beating, echoing thing in chest, for the first time in a long time, doesn't feel like it's being strangled. Whatever his heart is searching for, it's close.

Resolute, Daichi gets up to get ready for the day.

 

When he gets downstairs to the hotel's dining room, the last thing Daichi expects is to run into two old friends, and yet. There they are. Right in front of him.

“Daichi!” Bokuto calls with astonished glee.

A bit shell-shocked, Daichi approaches their table.

Kuroo grins at him. “Sit down. They have great eggs here.”

Bokuto makes a face. “Don't listen to him. The insides are all mushy.”

Kuroo sighs and glances over at his boyfriend. “That's what makes them good.”

“I—” Daichi chokes out. “You're both here.”

Kuroo's smirk returns. “So we are.”

“In Amsterdam,” Daichi states. “What for?”

“We're look—” Bokuto starts excitedly, but Kuroo slaps a hand over his mouth and puts on a saccharine smile.

“Vacation,” Kuroo says, and then makes a face. Daichi can see Bokuto's jaw working, so he has his suspicions. Kuroo swiftly pulls his hand back. “Bo, please. We've only just had breakfast. Save it for tonight.”

Daichi leans back in his chair, unfazed at the innuendos but still processing the fact that two of his friends are here, by chance, in front of him. “This is crazy.”

“Some coincidence, huh?” Kuroo says.

Daichi nods. For a moment, he wonders if it really is.

“Well, since you're here,” Bokuto chirps. “There's this science museum that's a boat that Kuroo wanted to go see! You should come with us.”

“I don't want to impose—” Daichi starts.

“It's not a boat,” Kuroo interrupts. “In fact, that it looks like one at all is pure coincidence.” He turns to Daichi. “It's no bother,” he insists. “Besides, you didn't come with anyone, did you? Exploring is more fun with friends.”

Daichi feels a smile tugging at his lips. “I suppose you're right.”

Besides, it's not as if he has any leads. Might as well enjoy some tourism while he's here.

“Great,” Kuroo says. “Now, I'm going back for more eggs.”

Bokuto sticks his tongue out, looking disgusted.

 

Outside, it takes less than ten seconds for Kuroo and Bokuto to almost get run over by a cyclist. Daichi pulls them both back by their shirt collars, keeping them safely on the sidewalk and out of the bike lane, and proceeds to lecture them about Amsterdam's biking culture.

“Wow, you know your stuff, Daichi,” Bokuto comments. He's eyeing the bike lane like it's liable to reach out and grab him.

Daichi crosses his arms. “I actually did my research before coming to a foreign country. What kind of planning did you both do?”

Kuroo gives a noncommittal shrug, and then his gaze flicks over Daichi's shoulders, staring at something.

“Are you listening?” Daichi asks, and then caves, glancing over his shoulder. He does a double-take. “Is that...”

“Iwaizumi?” Kuroo blurts.

The man approaching them on the sidewalk pauses, looking up from his phone. “ _Kuroo_?”

“What the hell,” Daichi breathes.

“Kuroo?” another voice asks, and then there's a short redhead popping out from behind Iwaizumi. “Kuroo! _Bokuto!_ ”

Bokuto snaps to attention at the sound of his name. “Hinata!” he cries, and they both go charging at each other.

Hinata jumps into Bokuto's arms. Even more surprisingly, Bokuto catches him, laughing.

“What's going _on_ ,” Daichi asks.

“Well,” Kuroo drawls. “What a coincidence.”

Daichi glares at him.

Kuroo just shrugs and approaches Iwaizumi, throwing an arm over his shoulder. “Didn't know you were in Amsterdam.”

Iwaizumi lets out a huff. “Business trip. And a bit of vacation.” He gestures at Hinata, still being carried by Bokuto. “You two know each other?”

“Since high school!” Hinata cheerfully supplies.

“Thank God,” Iwaizumi says. “Please take him. He's been tailing me like a lost puppy.”

Hinata pouts. “I have not! You said you were going to a museum, and that sounded cool. I figured I'd tag along.”

Daichi sighs. “Hinata, I'm not sure if that's how you... interact with people.”

“How did you meet then?” Kuroo asks.

“Same hotel,” Iwaizumi answers. “He's very chatty.”

Kuroo laughs. “Fair enough. What museum? We were going to the NEMO.”

“Same,” Iwaizumi says.

“This is insane,” Daichi says. “How did this even happen?”

Bokuto sets Hinata down and puts a hand on Daichi's shoulder. “Why question a good thing? The more, the merrier. Let's go!”

 

“Stop that,” Keiji scolds.

Kenma sinks down further, and more of his arm shifts to mist. He's been sulking, and distracted himself by shifting his hand in and out of his human and mistwolf form. He hadn't expected Keiji to be paying attention to him.

“You'll tire yourself out,” Keiji says, and pauses on the other side of the couch to run his fingers through Kenma's hair.

Kenma doesn't respond, but he does shift his arm back into solid material.

“Do you want to do something after I finish cleaning? I think Suga's going out tonight.”

Kenma makes a face that Keiji can't see because he's already gone into the kitchen.

“I'll take silence as a 'no' to going out,” Keiji says. “We—” he pauses. “Did you think I meant going out meant a club or something?”

“I'm not particularly interested no matter what it means,” Kenma says. He draws his knees to his chest.

Keiji sighs and comes back, nudging at Kenma until he gives in and moves. Keiji slides in behind him on the couch, pulling Kenma to his chest and bracketing Kenma's hips with his thighs. “What's got you restless?”

Kenma shrugs slightly, careful not to hit Keiji as he moves to rest his chin on Kenma's shoulder. “Intuition, I guess.”

“Like your skin is crawling?” Keiji offers.

Kenma nods. “You too?”

“Yeah,” Keiji admits. “It's probably why Suga's going out, too. I know know what Oikawa and Kageyama are up to, but they're probably just as bad. I don't know what's going on.”

Kenma sighs, and leans his head back against Keiji's chest. “I don't know either. Something's coming. The last time...”

“Don't,” Keiji says softly. “It won't bring them back.”

Kenma swallows hard. His chest feels tight, but he nods. They've mourned. They've remembered. Doing it now won't bring Bokuto and Kuroo back. It certainly doesn't stop Kenma from missing them.

“Distraction?” Keiji offers. He presses a kiss to Kenma's neck. “We both need one.”

Kenma huffs. “Save it for my rut in a couple days.”

Keiji hums, the sound muffled by Kenma's skin. “I didn't necessarily mean sex. Did we ever finish _Black Mirror_?”

“ _I_ did,” Kenma retorts. He reaches for the remote and then settles more firmly in Keiji's lap. “But we can watch it. What did you last see?”

Keiji snorts a laugh into Kenma's ear and wraps his arms more snugly around Kenma. “The one with the watchers, I think.”

Kenma pauses, and then he picks an episode and lets the night drag on.

Perhaps tomorrow will be better.

Whatever is coming—well, there's nothing they can do now, is there? It's not like they could stop the last disaster from happening. It's probably just some human disputes coming to a height of conflict. And the last time they got involved in human affairs...

They lost everything.

 

Two episodes of _Black Mirror_ later finds Kenma squirming in Keiji's lap. He lets out a little impatient huff, turns off the TV as soon as the episode is done, and turns until he's straddling Keiji's thighs.

Keiji just raises an eyebrow at him, hands steady on Kenma's hips.

“Changed your mind?” Keiji offers.

Kenma slides his hands up Keiji's shoulders, skims his fingers up his neck, and finally rests his palms on Keiji's cheeks. “Maybe,” he huffs out again. “Who knows? Maybe this—whatever's going on—is triggering my rut.”

Keiji snorts. “Unlikely.”

Kenma leans forward to nip at Keiji's bottom lip, and the hands at his hips tighten their grip. “ _You're_ not a mistwolf,” Kenma breathes against Keiji's lips. “How would _you_ know?”

Keiji's lips twitch up into a smile that's too sweet in comparison to the things Kenma wants to do to him. “I know _you_.”

“Cute,” Kenma quips at him, and presses their lips together in a far too chaste kiss. It only lasts a heartbeat before Kenma moves to nip at Keiji's neck.

Keiji's hands slide down to Kenma's ass and pull him closer. He lets his head tip back to give Kenma better access, but otherwise remains composed. His voice is completely level when he speaks, even though Kenma's busy sucking a bruise into his collarbone. “We should go with Suga if you're restless. It'd do you good.”

Kenma pauses. He lets out a little grumbling noise, and then thunder claps outside, echoing him. “You know what I miss most?” he retorts, moving up to look down at Keiji. “When Tetsu and Kou were here, I was right a lot more often.”

Keiji laughs at that. “I think you're right just as often. They just added a lot of wrong guesses to buffer the odds.”

Kenma hums. “We'll go,” he decides finally. “But later.”

Kenma slides his hands back down to Keiji's shoulders, and with a well-practiced twist, he has Keiji landing on his back against the couch cushions, with Kenma on top of him still. Keiji lets out a huff of noise.

“First,” Kenma says, as if he's discussing the weather. “I'm gonna ride you until you make me come untouched.”

Keiji lets out a wheeze at that, and Kenma moves down to bite on the bruise he left earlier.

 

It's not until after they've tired themselves out—after Kenma makes good on his words—that the truth really hits them.

The others always resented Keiji and Kenma a little, because while the others had lost their one true love, Kenma and Keiji still had each other.

But sometimes... Sometimes that was because the others forgot that Keiji and Kenma lost not one partner, but two. The ache in their chests is a mingled pain of both Tetsurou and Koutarou's absence.

Distance makes the heart grow fonder. If that's true, then how far is death?

Kenma lays on Keiji's chest. His breathing hasn't even managed to return to normal before it's hitching again, this time on a sob that shakes his entire body.

Keiji's arms wrap around him automatically. He pulls Kenma close, turns and curls up around him so Kenma is pressed between the back of the couch and Keiji's chest. Kenma's nails dig impressions into Keiji's back where he clings.

 _God_ , he misses them. He misses them so much.

Keiji is the first to outright sob, burying his face in Kenma's hair and holding him so tight that Kenma feels as if they'll both shatter under the weight of their own sorrow.

 

When Daichi and the others emerge from the museum, it's raining. Pouring, really, but it seems the locals milling about are used to the deluge. They make it to the nearest metro station without getting _entirely_ soaked, but Bokuto's hair is starting to droop towards his temples. He seems unaffected, though, and continues chattering to Hinata about... beetles?

And that gets Iwaizumi involved in the conversation, once he recognizes the topic, and Daichi can't stop himself from smiling at seeing some animation in Iwaizumi's movements.

 _“Iwa-chan only ever gets this excited about bugs_.” _The words are said with such fake self-pity that Daichi has to physically restrain himself from rolling his eyes._

_There's a laugh that sounds like the way stars twinkle, light and mischievous and charming and hinting at secrets trapped behind those lips. Daichi wants to devour the sound, breathe it in until it's a part of him, kept tucked away into his heart._

_“Maybe that's why he likes you,” that same laughing voice chirps. Daichi is so, so in love with this man. “Are you a bug?”_

_“How dare you!” Daichi hears an affronted gasp. “If anything, I'm a beautiful butterfly.”_

_“That's still a bug,” huffs Iwaizumi's gruff voice, but it's laced with something softer, sweeter, than Daichi is used to hearing._

_“Mean, Iwa-chan! Surely, I matter more to you than a bug?”_

_“Well...”_

_“Hajime!”_

_“Do you like me more than space?” Iwaizumi counters._

_“I—that's not the conversation we're having!”_

_That sparkling laugh again. It sets Daichi at ease, pulls warmth over his skin until he's wrapped in it, sated. “That's rather telling. Do you two need counseling? I'm sure Daichi and I would be willing to assist.”_

_“Don't bring me into this,” Daichi chuckles._

_“Are you saying our relationship isn't a perfect example to strive for?”_

_“I didn't say that at all,” Daichi says levelly, completely used to this dramatic teasing. They bring out the worst in each other, these two. “But you know the last time we meddled, I almost got eaten by a dragon.”_

_Iwaizumi snorts. “That was entirely your fault and you know it.”_

_“Which is why I'm staying out of this one,” Daichi points out._

The—what, memory?—slips away from him as quickly as it comes. It leaves him breathless.

Kuroo glances at him, hand reaching out to steady Daichi's shoulder. “You okay?”

Daichi's brow furrows. “F-fine...”

Iwaizumi's deep chuckle has Daichi glancing toward him. He's certain, now, that it was a memory. It felt too real, too significant, to be a dream.

But he's also certain that he's never had that conversation with Iwaizumi in his life. He's also certain he's never been in love with someone—not like that. And he's certain he's never met a dragon in his entire life, given the fact that dragons aren't real.

Kuroo's lips twist into a frown that might be construed as concern. He tightens his grip on Daichi's shoulder for a moment before dropping his hand.

The train drags to a stop, and the five of them file out, back into the rain.

It's gotten worse, and none of them were equipped for a storm. Daichi and Kuroo hurry into the entrance of their hotel, but Bokuto pauses outside.

Somehow he convinces Iwaizumi and Hinata to come to his and Kuroo's room. Daichi gets dragged along too after a gentle glare from Kuroo lets him know that Kuroo's still worried and isn't letting Daichi out of his sight for a bit. Damn perceptive bastard under all those dirty jokes and smirks.

So they squeeze into Bokuto and Kuroo's room, steal all the towels out of the bathroom to try and dry off. Daichi supposes he could slip away under the guise of leaving to go change into dry clothes, but he's wrapped in a fluffy towel and sitting cross-legged on the bed... And Bokuto is guarding the door.

Hinata flops down next to Daichi, rolling over and shuffling until he's taking up as much of the bed as his small frame can while using Daichi's leg as a pillow. His wet hair is going to leave a damp patch on Daichi's jeans, but it's not like they're exactly dry anyway, and, if Daichi's being honest, he missed Hinata. He hasn't seen him since college.

In fact, he realizes, with the exception of Kuroo—and by extension, Bokuto—who he's kept up with over social media, he hasn't spoken to any of them since graduation. Three years ago. Nostalgia creeps into his bones.

Iwaizumi is collapsed into the single armchair, towel draped over his shoulders. Bokuto is plopped on the ground near the door, and Kuroo makes himself comfortable on the parts of the bed Hinata isn't on.

“So Daichi,” Kuroo starts. “Why are _you_ in Amsterdam? I never got the chance to ask.”

Daichi gives a shrug, which is a truer answer than anything he'll say out loud. “Vacation, I suppose.”

“How interesting,” Kuroo hums.

“I'm here looking for someone!” Hinata announces, and for some reason Daichi's heart rate spikes.

Kuroo and Iwaizumi are staring at him.

“Do you know someone here?” Iwaizumi finally asks.

“No,” Hinata says, too cheerful in comparison to the tension Daichi has prickling over his skin. He sits up. “But I'm looking for someone.”

Kuroo glances at Bokuto. It's quick—a quiet, pleading sort of gaze that Daichi can read the panic in. Kuroo knows something—

“Us too,” Bokuto says quietly.

Kuroo shakes his head with a sigh.

“Is it the same person?” Hinata asks with a tilt of his head.

Bokuto shakes his head. He draws his knees to his chest. “It's two people, for me. For us. Me and Tetsu.”

Daichi's chest feels tight; his head like it's going to explode.

And then, Iwaizumi: “...You feel it, too.”

Holy shit.

“What about you, Daichi?” Hinata asks, leaning back to look at him.

Daichi's throat his dry, but he nods.

They fall into silence, and Daichi is having trouble processing this. Sure, all of them showing up by pure random chance is nearly _impossible_. But it feels almost moreso that they were... What? Drawn here? Guided by fate? Why Amsterdam? Why here?

But then, among all the questions, his mind settles on the warmth of Kuroo's shoulder pressing against his, and something akin to calm wraps around him. His pounding heart begins to return to normal speed, adrenaline fading, and with a sigh of relief, Daichi breathes out: “God, I'm so glad I'm not the only one. I thought I was going crazy.”

Hinata perks up at that. “What do you mean?”

Daichi swallows. Hinata's gaze on him is unrelenting, and Daichi realizes he'd forgotten how intense Hinata can be. “The weird... Obligation to come here. The tension since I've arrived. The fact we're all here.”

Daichi pauses, and licks his lips. Hinata nods at him to continue.

“The dreams,” Daichi finally says, and though his voice doesn't waver, he feels a prickle of self-consciousness.

Iwaizumi coughs awkwardly from his place in the corner of the room. Daichi's gaze snaps to him. “What,” Iwaizumi says slowly, like he's tasting how the word sounds. “What the actual fuck are you talking about.”

Bokuto blinks at him. “Why are you here, then?”

Iwaizumi stares right back. “You made me come up to your room under the guise of waiting out the storm and catching up.”

“In _Amsterdam_ ,” Bokuto corrects with a pout.

The corner of Iwaizumi's mouth twitches, like he's about to smile, but then the movement twists into a scowl. “I... Business trip. I told you.”

“That's it?” Kuroo presses.

“I took a couple of days off while I was here...” Iwaizumi crosses his arms, voice pitching toward defensive. “I can be impulsive.”

Kuroo watches him, and Iwaizumi refuses to back down under the scrutiny.

Finally, Kuroo relents, slumping a bit more against Daichi. “Well, fine. If you want to leave, you can. But I can tell you that you're just as wrapped up in whatever this is as the rest of us.”

Iwaizumi snorts. “How do you know?”

Kuroo bites his lip, glances towards Bokuto, and then looks back at Iwaizumi. His voice is low and serious when he says, “I remember it.”

Iwaizumi lets out an incredulous little scoff. “You—you _what_?” Except that his voice goes just a bit breathy, and Daichi can tell that they've caught a nerve.

“I do too,” Daichi says. “God, I have no idea what's going on, but—yeah.”

“You're crazy,” Iwaizumi says, but there's not much conviction in his voice. He slumps further into the chair, bravado deflating, and closes his eyes as if he's pained. “ _I'm_ crazy.”

“So it's someone for each of us, right?” Hinata asks.

Bokuto picks himself up off the floor. He shoves Hinata's leg out of the way in order to sit on the edge of the bed. “Different people, right?”

“What do we know?” Daichi asks into the room.

“Dark hair and heat and a strong grip,” Hinata rattles off.

“Silver hair, a laugh like wind chimes, mischief and love,” Daichi answers, and feels something in his chest tighten.

“Likes to choose when people watch him, video games, and soft hair,” Kuroo says, and Bokuto nods in agreement.

“Collected and beautiful and... bright. Like moonlight,” Bokuto adds.

Iwaizumi stares at them all for a moment. He licks his lips. “Voice like an angel, an unguarded smile that can light up the room, the most annoying person I've ever... met? I don't know.” Iwaizumi stumbles over his words as he pulls in a shaky breath. “I have no idea who he is, but I love him.”

“I think it's a given,” Daichi says softly. “Whoever they are... I think we love them regardless.”

Hinata nods vigorously.

Bokuto takes a deep breath. He stands and claps his hands together, eyes shining. “So,” he announces with a gleeful look towards Kuroo, who rolls his eyes in response. “The question is: do you believe in soulmates?”

“What, we're just—going along with this?” Daichi asks incredulously. “Soulmates aren't real—that can't be the explanation.”

“There's a skeptic in our midst,” Kuroo huffs.

“Of course I'm skeptic. I want to know what the hell is going on.”

“I can't believe I'm saying this,” Iwaizumi says. “But honestly, that's a lot better of an explanation than the fact we've all simultaneously gone insane.”

“Besides,” Kuroo continues. He sits up straighter and pokes at Daichi's side. “While you were reading about Amsterdam, Bo and I were doing more important research. On soulmates. And magic.”

Daichi chokes on air. “ _Magic_?”

“Trust us on this one,” Bokuto says. “Kuroo went full scientist on this.”

Kuroo breathes out a chuckle. “I don't know about that... But Iwaizumi is right. It's a lot better than the alternative. And it's not... impossible. I've dug up records of, well, not exactly the same thing, but accounts from other people.”

“How reputable are these accounts?” Daichi asks dubiously.

“Does it matter?” Hinata counters. “ _We're_ proof enough.” He turns to sit on his knees, facing Daichi. His palm splays over his chest, fingers pressing into the fabric of his shirt. “ _This_ is proof.”

Daichi feels his lip curve into a smile without his full permission. Man, he'd missed this kid. “Alright,” he admits. “I'll bite. So—soulmates. What's next?”

“What's next?” Iwaizumi asks.

Daichi nods, and sits up straighter. “We have to find them, don't we?”

 

Suga has a list of _Daichi_ _things_.

He repeats the list in his head as he shrugs on a coat and prepares to step out into the night despite the storm.

 _Daichi's favorite food is ramen_.

Suga pauses at the door, wondering if Tooru has his key. He has no idea where he's disappeared to, but he had he was planning on joining Suga tonight. Well, Keiji and Kenma are across the hall if anything happens, and if Tooru gets locked out he'll complain for days.

So he leaves it unlocked, pulls his hood up, and walks out into the rain.

The scent of it soothes his nerves, just a bit.

_Daichi is a lightweight when it comes to alcohol._

Suga's steps are quick. He feels like he's being watched, even though he knows there's no one paying attention to him. Even if there was—any other day, he'd play along. Flirt or tease or tempt. But today, his ribs are tied by threads of trepidation. Anticipation and worry writes into his bones. He has to get out of this form or he's going to absolutely lose it soon.

_Daichi's hands are rough from tending the garden they used to have._

Suga slips through the park entrance unhindered, and continues further. He ignores the _Authorized Persons Only – Endangered Species_ sign on the next gate he finds and lets himself through. Amsterdam has one of the few magic-friendly governments left, and Suga is grateful for his small, walled-off space.

It's not like it used to be, but it's better than nothing. At least, he still has this.

 _Daichi would get so, so mad at him for shedding on the couch_.

As if it was Suga's fault that Daichi had fucked him slow and deep the night before on that very same couch.

Suga wanders between the trees, already feeling a bit more at peace now that's freely in his element. He finds a nearly dry patch under the cover of a few large trees near a pond and stops there. He pulls his coat off, first, and then slowly sheds the rest of his clothes. He leaves the chain around his neck on—it's big enough to stay put without breaking in any state of his transformation, and Suga can't bear to take it off.

Suga's focused on shoving his clothes under his jacket in an attempt to kept them dry when there's a sharp wolf whistle from behind him.

He jumps, if only surprised, and turns to glare into the pond. “I thought you'd wait for me,” he tells the water.

 _Daichi loves Suga's laugh. Will do anything to make him laugh again. He's weak for Suga's smile, too, and they both knew that smile got them into more trouble than it was worth_.

Suga doesn't think he's smiled the same way since Daichi died.

Brown hair pops up from the surface, and then there's reflective eyes peering up at him. Suga puts his hands on his hips and waits while Tooru drifts closer.

“You having fun?” Suga quips.

Tooru rises up just a bit more, showing off a sharp grin, pointed teeth sharp against his lips. “Absolutely,” he says with that satisfied smirk. His eyes trail down Suga's naked body, completely unashamed. “We always have fun together.”

Suga sighs. He turns and lets his human form melt away. He doesn't shift completely, just enough for his fur to protect himself against the chill of the rain and release the pressure he hadn't realized had been growing at his temples.

“Oooh,” Tooru coos at the sight of Suga's newest set of antlers. They're still soft with velvet, growing for another month or so, at least. Even so, they're already an impressive set.

“Oh, thank _God_ ,” Suga breathes out with a little relieved groan. “I hadn't realized how much that would help.”

“It's 'cause you're _old_ ,” Tooru teases. His tail flicks up against the water's surface. “They grow too much.”

“I'm not old,” Suga grumbles at him. “I'm experienced and wise.”

Tooru snorts. “Keep telling yourself that, Koushi.”

Suga makes a halfhearted displeased noise at him before turning away. He stretches muscles that have been locked away in his human form, back arching and cracking satisfyingly. He takes note of the things he's missed, while human: the soft fur on his shoulders and thighs, the flick of his tail and ears, the weight of his antlers, the thud of his hooves on the wet ground.

_Daichi would brush his fingers over Suga's body for hours. It didn't matter what form he was in—human, deer, or somewhere in between. It made Suga feel endlessly loved._

There's a soft splash, and Suga turns to find Tooru sitting on the bank of the pond, tail drifting lazily in water. Suga blinks down at him. He sits next to Tooru on the bank, careful to try and keep his hooves out of the water. Not that it matters with the rain.

Suga's fingers are gentle when he brushes over the scales at Tooru's hip. The moonlight washes out some of the color, but even faded, Suga can tell they're a dark blue. “You changed them again,” he murmurs.

Tooru's easy smirk falters. “I—” he starts, and then swallows his own words.

“I get it,” Suga says. “We've all been feeling it, I think. I don't know why, but it's okay. His eyes, right?”

Tooru nods, and he bites his lip to keep it from quivering. He takes in a breath through his nose instead of his gills, lungs rattling with wetness. “It's not like it's the anniversary,” he mumbles. “So that means something's going to happen, right?”

Suga holds his legs close to him, pulling his knees to his chest. “I don't know,” he admits.

 _Daichi always knew what was best. Suga made him push the boundaries, but Daichi only ever made the decisions that made Suga happiest._ That _was his priority_.

Tooru suddenly sniffles. “I can't lose any of you.”

“'M not going anywhere if I can help it,” Suga assures him. “Neither are the others.” Suga leans back onto his palms. “Besides, we know something's coming, this time.”

Tooru lets out a quiet scoff. “As if we can do anything.”

Suga doesn't say anything to that.

“We _knew_ ,” Tooru continues, voice going low and furious. “We _knew_ , Koushi, and we did _nothing_.”

“We didn't know,” Suga argues weakly. It doesn't matter, because he's lost the argument with himself already. He's blamed himself for years. “Not really.”

“Bullshit,” Tooru spits. “We could have saved them. We could have done _something_.”

Suga just buries his face into his knees.

But then he hears Tooru let out a hiss, and he glances up.

Tooru has his claws digging into his own scales, picking at one in particular that he's obviously been working on. He lets out a choked noise as he finally finds a catch and with a scratchy tearing sound, he rips the scale off.

“Stop it!” Suga snaps at him, mildly horrified. “I thought you'd gotten better about that.”

Tooru just stares at the dark blood seeping from the wound.

“Tooru,” Suga pleads. He stands and puts a hand on Tooru's shoulder, thumb rubbing soothingly just under Tooru's gills on his neck. “Come on... we should go back and clean that up.”

“Don't wanna,” Tooru bites out.

Suga lets out a huff and kneels. He gets his arms under Tooru's and starts physically dragging Tooru out of the water, long tail trailing out after him. With a grunt, he lets Tooru drop onto the grass. “You need to cut down on the milk bread.”

Tooru growls at him. “If you're not going to let me do this—” Tooru throws the dislocated scale at Suga's face and it smacks him in the cheek. “—then you certainly do _not_ have the right to say what I do and do not get to eat to cope.”

_Daichi always bought too much food. Because, too often, it was never just him and Suga. It was them, and then whichever friends showed up on their doorstep. Daichi never complained about it. Just made extra and fed the hungry mouths and shared in the laughter, in the joy, in the friendship._

It meant the world to Suga that falling in love with Daichi hadn't meant abandoning himself. That he could be _exactly_ who he was with Daichi, and that Daichi so seamlessly accepted the others into his life, as well. Even if Kageyama had tried to eat him, once, but that was probably Suga's fault. Most things were Suga's fault.

“I'm not leaving,” Tooru says stubbornly. “Tobio said he was going to come.”

“Well, I'm not letting that get infected in the water,” Suga tells him. “Remember the last time you got sick? I'm not babysitting you for two weeks straight again.”

Tooru glares at him from his place flat on the ground. His tail flops once, useless but angry, against the grass. “I'm not leaving. I promised Tobio.”

“Maybe you should have thought about that before you went ripping at your scales,” Suga counters.

“You're not my mom,” Tooru hisses. “Stop acting like it.”

“Tooru,” Suga snaps. He's starting to test Suga's patience, already worn thin by the oppressive tension in the atmosphere. It's probably why Tooru is so antagonistic in the first place. Suga sighs. “At least change back. You can have my coat.”

“No thanks,” Tooru huffs. Suga is about to open his mouth to scold him against, but Tooru continues. “I don't want to freeze my ass off, thanks. I'll wait until Tobio gets here to cuddle with someone.”

“Since when have I not been cuddle-worthy?” Suga asks him, mock-offended, and the tension between them dissolves instantly.

“Since you weren't a living furnace.”

“It's not even that cold,” Suga protests. “It's basically summer. I'd know, because I actually have antlers.”

“It's raining,” Tooru points out. “It's cold.”

Suga rolls his eyes with a incredulous scoff. “I have no idea how Iwaizumi ever put up with you.”

Tooru's brown eyes flash reflective for a moment. “I don't really know, either,” he admits softly.

Suga sits down, carding his fingers through Tooru's hair. He smiles down at him. “He was so, so in love with you.”

Tooru sniffles. “I know.”

“You were happy together.”

Tooru smiles up at him, though his eyes are glassy. “Yeah. We really were. I just wish I could have done something.”

“The world turned against us,” Suga tells him. “There was nothing we could do.”

“Put up a fight—”

“That would have gotten countless innocents killed.”

“ _Hajime_ was innocent,” Tooru whines. His claws clench into the grass at his sides. “Daichi, too, you know that!”

“I know,” Suga whispers. “But we can't change it.”

“I would,” Tooru says, stubborn. “If I could go back. I'd trade thousands of lives in exchange for Iwa-chan.”

Suga brushes Tooru's bangs away from his forehead. “No you wouldn't.”

Tooru glowers, and then deflates, air hissing past his gills. “You're right.”

Suga leans down and kisses Tooru's forehead. “We have to let it go. It's been over twenty years.”

“We didn't even have that long with them,” Tooru whispers, voice raw and horrified. “That fucking witch took them from us while they were so young.”

“I know,” Suga soothes. Tooru's trembling, now, so Suga coos out a little noise and begins to sing. His voice is terrible compared to a siren's, but Tooru loves music. So Suga sings lullabies he'd memorized while planning with Daichi.

 _Daichi always wanted a big family. Their plans went out the window when the new government in the magical sector decided it was time for the community to split ties with humans. And offenders would be severely punished_.

 

“So,” Daichi states, “We have some vague descriptions, bits and pieces of a name—and by that, I meant a letter or two at _best—_ a couple of distinct historical events for some reason, and an entire city to search.”

“Sounds about right,” Kuroo says.

“None of this is remotely useful,” Daichi tells him.

Hinata groans and flops face-down onto the bed. Daichi doesn't even have the willpower to tell him to get off because he'll disorganize everything. They're getting nowhere.

“It's getting late,” Daichi eventually mutters.

“No!” Bokuto says suddenly. “We aren't giving up this easily! Come on, Daichi, what happened to the engineering superman?”

“I got a job doing surveying,” Daichi grumbles. “It's much easier than structural analysis.”

“Boo,” Kuroo tells him. “Coward.”

“Fuck off,” Daichi huffs, though there's no heat to it.

“Anyway,” Bokuto continues with a flourish. “Now is not the time for rest! Now is the time for alcohol!”

Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow at him. Hinata, fresh out of college, seems to perk up at the idea. Daichi rolls his eyes.

“What liquor store is going to be open at midnight?” Iwaizumi asks.

“Who needs a liquor store when you have a great boyfriend?” Bokuto replies, putting his hands on his hips as if he's won something. “Kuroo?”

Kuroo slips off the bed and digs through a suitcase thrown into the closet. He straightens with a bottle of wine in his hands.

“You're kidding,” Iwaizumi says.

Daichi can't stop himself from laughing. “You want to get us wine drunk while trying to research something that's probably a myth—”

“Ah-ah,” Kuroo scolds. “Every time you're a cynic, you have to drink.”

“There's five of us,” Hinata points out, “There's no way one bottle will last.”

“He's right,” Iwaizumi agrees, though he's smiling. Daichi has a feeling he finds this just as amusing.

Kuroo grins. He leans back and reaches for the suitcase and pulls out another bottle of wine. “Never underestimate a scientist.”

“I can't believe you,” Daichi chuckles.

“Ah!” Kuroo cries. “Cynic! 'Nother drink for you.”

Daichi kicks at him, and Kuroo barely manages to get his kneecap out of the way with a small jump. “Not fair! That doesn't count.”

“Totally counts,” Hinata quips, grinning at him.

Kuroo shuffles towards the desk to pull the corks out of the bottles and pour everyone drinks. Bokuto goes to snoop over his shoulder and, with any likelihood, probably cause disaster. Surprisingly tame, he wraps his arms around Kuroo and presses a kiss to the back of Kuroo's neck.

Hinata snorts and leans up on his elbows, crinkling one of Daichi's papers in the process. “Ha. Gay.”

Kuroo flips Hinata the bird over his shoulder while simultaneously handing Iwaizumi a cheap hotel cup filled with wine, all while Bokuto's still attached to him.

Daichi scoffs and attempts to push Hinata off the bed with his foot. “You're pan, you ass.”

Hinata lets out a squawk when Daichi succeeds and he goes tumbling off the end of the mattress. His head pops up from the floor to narrow his eyes at Daichi. “I never said it was a bad thing.”

“You still a lightweight?” Kuroo asks as he passes Daichi a cup, Bokuto still clinging to him.

“Absolutely,” Daichi tells him.

Hinata snickers.

Iwaizumi sips at his cup. “As if you're any better,” he quips at Hinata.

Hinata's head whips towards Iwaizumi so quickly, Daichi's impressed he's not dizzy. “That was one time!”

Iwaizumi smirks. “I didn't say anything.” He pauses, and then furrows his brow, falling silent.

Kuroo passes a cup off to Hinata, and at the this point, Bokuto is basically piggy-backing him. Kuroo finally sighs and tilts his head toward Bokuto.

Bokuto lets out a happy little coo and slips from Kuroo's back towards his front, eagerly tipping Kuroo's jaw in the direction he wants it and pressing their lips together. Daichi finds himself watching—albeit maybe a little awkwardly—because, really, the two of them together are absolutely mesmerizing. Not that he'll ever admit that to Kuroo. He'd never hear the end of it.

So he lets them carry on for a bit. Hinata seems to have gone back to going over the notes they've made, scattered across the bed, and Iwaizumi is still processing... something. So Daichi lets himself watch as Kuroo's tongue slips into Bokuto's mouth and his hand slides around Bokuto's waist with the sort of easy possession that comes from knowing a person's body inside and out.

If there was ever any doubt, Daichi thinks, about Kuroo being willing to share with two others—these potential soulmates—that cynicism is thrown out the window. He takes another sip of his cup, anyway.

Kuroo and Bokuto are beautiful together, and they know it. They flaunt it, revel in it, tempt with it, and if Daichi didn't feel this tight longing in his heart for the starlight-kissed person he's searching for, then he very well might have fallen for them. It'd be so easy to.

Finally, Daichi clears his throat pointedly, and Bokuto breaks away with an easy smile, not at all ashamed. Kuroo still has an arm around Bokuto's waist as he smirks at Daichi.

“Can I at least finish this before we start with the making out?” Daichi motions at them with his cup. “I thought I left this behind in college.”

Kuroo runs his tongue across his bottom lip. “You missed our performances and you know it.”

“Well,” Daichi hums. “I maintain my response from senior year. At least one of us is—”

“—getting some action,” Iwaizumi finishes.

Daichi turns to look at him, stunned. “...What?”

Iwaizumi looks equal parts terrified as he does excited. “We've done this before,” he announces. “The getting drunk, the making out, but—the others were here—Tooru—” Iwaizumi breaks off, shocked.

“Tooru?” Kuroo prompts.

“It's a name,” Iwaizumi whispers. “My name—I mean—not _mine_ —”

“Holy _shit_ ,” Daichi hisses out, and nearly spills his wine as he starts searching with Hinata for the page they'd kept of Iwaizumi's clues.

Hinata finds it first with a noise of triumph, grabs the nearest pen, and scribbles _Tooru_ across the top in his messy scrawl.

“That's finally—something,” Daichi breathes.

“See?” Bokuto says, smug. “I told you the alcohol would work.”

 

When Kenma and Keiji finally go to join Koushi, they find not only him, but Tooru and Tobio, too. Tobio is completely transformed, one wing held up just enough to keep the rain off of Tooru and Koushi. Tooru is curled up in a ball with a jacket draped over him and leaning against Tobio's side, likely seeking out as much warmth as he can from the dragon's core.

Koushi's face lights up when he sees them. “You came.”

Kenma knows his eyes are still red, throat raw. Keiji's probably no better. He nods and goes over to fit himself under the dry patch provided by Tobio.

Koushi reaches for him, latching onto his hand and giving it a quick squeeze before he turns towards Tooru and starts attempting to wrestle the jacket from him. Needless to say, Tooru is putting up a fight about it.

Kenma turns away and starts undressing. Tobio lifts his head and watches them all for a moment before extending his wing to its full length, giving Kenma and Keiji more room.

“Thank you,” Keiji tells him. He scratches his fingers against the patch of scales behind Tobio's ears that Tobio will never admit is a weak spot.

Once undressed, Kenma lets his shift take over. As soon as he's managed a full shift, he shakes out his fur on instinct, splattering everyone with water droplets.

Keiji, still pulling off his pants, turns to scowl at him.

Kenma just cocks his head at him and perks his ears forward. Suddenly, something metallic hits his newly sharpened senses. His head snaps towards Koushi, and he growls at the scent of blood.

“Damn it, Koushi,” Tooru is huffing. “You made it bleed. I'd just gotten it clean.”

Koushi glares down at Tooru. “With _my_ jacket.” He turns to Keiji. “Can you please do something about him before I lose my Goddamn mind?”

Keiji looks surprised for a moment, and then as it clicks, he smiles. “Of course.” He kneels next to Tooru, who's stubbornly curled into a ball.

Kenma pads over and noses at Koushi's hand. Koushi absently scritches behind Kenma's ears. His tail starts wagging before he can stop it.

“Tooru,” Keiji says softly, running his hand up Tooru's shin. “Come on, let me see.”

Tooru makes a grumbling noise but extends his legs obediently. Keiji has that sort of power over people. It has nothing to do with his magic and everything to do with _him_.

Keiji sucks in a breath at the bleeding gash on Tooru's thigh. There are other scars littered there, too, pale raised flesh where Tooru tore at his scales before but didn't get anyone to help him heal. One scar in particular looks especially ragged, skin pulled taunt around it. Kenma remembers that. A few years after Hajime had died, and Tooru was in a really bad place and stayed in the pond for about a week... Long enough to pull at his own scales and get the wounds infected on top of it.

Which is probably why Koushi's freaking out.

Kenma lets out a little whine, butting his shoulder against Koushi's leg. Keiji will take care of him. They all take care of each other.

Koushi sits down next to Tooru, and Kenma takes advantage of the open lap, making himself at home by plopping himself on top of Koushi's thighs.

Keiji lets out a sigh as he finishes examining Tooru's leg. “Well, I don't think it's infected or anything, but it will probably still scar.”

“That's okay,” Tooru says softly. “Just adding to the collection.”

“You really shouldn't have a collection at all,” Keiji says, but the scolding is only as harsh as the gentle lilt of his voice. “Give me a moment.”

Kenma watches as Keiji shifts, body transition to its pure form. The black hair of his mane is a stark contrast to the white of his flank. Kenma yips at him, and Keiji snorts in his direction in response.

Keiji takes a step forward and lowers his horn to the wound on Tooru's leg. Kenma has to close his eyes against the flash of light, but he hears Tooru let out a little chirp. He's not entirely sure if it was indignant or pleased.

When Kenma opens his eyes, Tooru is patting Keiji's nose. He allows it for a bit before he shakes Tooru off and trots off. That's fine. He's probably dying to stretch his legs out. Kenma yawns, content to stay flopped on Koushi's lap. Even if his deer fur isn't as soft as Kenma's and is a little scratchy.

Tooru makes grabby hands at Kenma, and when Kenma doesn't move, he pouts.

Tobio makes a grumbling noise, curls around the three of them tighter, and lowers his wing back down, doing as much as he can to keep the warmth from his body close. Tooru pats at his side, but still pouts in Kenma's direction whenever he gets the chance.

So maybe Kenma feels a little bit sorry for him. They all seem to have had a rough day. And maybe his pre-rut is making him want a lot of pack bonding, and damn Keiji for knowing exactly what Kenma needs. Maybe he lets Koushi nudge him up and into Tooru's lap.

Tooru lets out a pleased noise and burrows his face into Kenma's scruff. Kenma would be mad about it, except for the fact that Tooru reaches to scratch at that one spot on Kenma's back that he can never quite reach. He definitely does _not_ melt at the hands of one Oikawa Tooru, the biggest diva he knows, but, well... It comes pretty close.

When Keiji comes back to close off the last bit of space under Tobio's wing, Kenma can't really bring himself to be upset about the blatant affection between them.

They're what's left of Kenma's pack.

What's left of his _family_.

He's not letting them go. Not this time.

 

_Shouyou dreams of fire and scales. Heated gazes and a hotter touch._

_“Hey,” a voice murmurs from above him, the breath of it ruffling the hair at Shouyou's temple. “You're awake.”_

_Shouyou lets out a hum and rolls over. The sheets are soft against his bare skin. There's sunlight streaming into the room, but Shouyuo refuses to open his eyes. He knows he'll have to get up, soon. Go for a run. Shower. Breakfast._

_But for a moment, he's content to stay here. Arms wrap around him, pulling him close. A warm palm slides from his shoulder blade down to the small of his back._

_His partner lets out a low grumbling noise, and then he's pressing a kiss to Shouyou's jaw, shoulder, collarbone. Hinata lets out a pleased, satisfied hum. He hooks his leg over his lover's hip, and rolls them both until Shouyou is safely held underneath him._

_Finally, he opens his eyes._

_That dark gaze is staring at him with that same guarded affection. Profound and lonely—until Shouyou._

_Shouyou brings him close and kisses him, tongue sweeping over his bottom lip with practiced ease and slipping into his mouth to taste heat and smoke._

_When they break apart, the defenses in those dark eyes have fallen away, and now they're gazing at Shouyou with unadulterated love_

_“Good morning,” Shouyou tells him, and presses another quick kiss to his lips._

_“How are you feeling?”_

_Shouyou hums, takes stock of his body, all pliant and loose muscles. “Little sore. Nothing terrible. You take good care of me.”_

_Hair tickles against Shouyou's jaw as his partner nuzzles against his neck, pressing his nose into Shouyou's shoulder. “You never let me,” he hums. “I have to take the chances I can get.”_

_The hand at Shouyou's back drifts down, sliding over his hip and over his thigh, tugging Shouyou closer. It leaves a trail of warmth over his skin, and Hinata wonders if, after enough times fucking a dragon, he'll just burn up._

_Shouyou thinks of his morning ritual—thinks of the to-do list he needs to eventually complete. Decides it's not as immediately pressing as the boy leaving kiss-bruises against the soft skin of his neck._

_Shouyou rolls his hips up, feeling arousal simmer over his skin. “So maybe I can let you pamper me some more.”_

_The kisses move from his neck, trail across Shouyou's chest and then lower, until his lover his hidden under the sheets. He sucks a mark into the inside of Shouyou's thigh, followed by a bite to the sensitive skin—_

 

Daichi wakes up when Hinata, who's laying on his chest, jolts.

Startled into consciousness, he blinks at the foreign room for a moment to gain his bearings. Sunlight, though a bit grey from lingering cloud cover, streams through the windows. At least the storm seems to have stopped. Next to him on the bed, Kuroo mumbles something and burrows his head deeper into his pillows and Bokuto's chest. Iwaizumi is asleep in the armchair, legs sprawled out in front of him and head tipped back against the back of the chair.

Hinata jerks again, mumbles something, and then blearily opens his eyes.

“Mornin,” Daichi grumbles.

“Fuck,” Hinata replies.

“Bad dream?” Daichi whispers.

Hinata shakes his head, and braces himself on Daichi's chest to sit up between his legs. “I need a cold shower.”

Daichi chokes out a noise, and Hinata seems to realize what he's admitted, flushing red.

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

“It's fine,” Daichi manages. He's practically walked in on Kuroo and Bokuto on multiple occasions, so this isn't all that awkward for him. “It happens.”

It takes Daichi a moment to realize Hinata is crying.

He jerks forward, reaching instinctively for Hinata. Sure, they were never close enough for this sort of thing to be an issue before, but Daichi and Hinata had a solid two years of friendship from college. It shouldn't be that big of a deal, right? “Hey, hey, it's not a problem—”

“Not—” Hinata pauses to wipe at his eyes. “Not that. I dreamed about my soulmate.”

Some of the tension eases out of Daichi's shoulders. “Oh.”

Bokuto stirs, rolling onto his back with a grumpy noise. “You guys talk a lot.”

Daichi looks down at him. “Pot calling the kettle black, much?”

Bokuto sticks his tongue out at Daichi. He pulls Kuroo—still fast asleep—closer so that his head is on Bokuto's shoulder instead of the pillows, hair wild as per usual. Bokuto's gaze flicks to Hinata. “What'd you dream about?”

Hinata crawls up the bed and makes himself at home against Bokuto's free side. He tips his head back on Bokuto's shoulder and stares at the ceiling for a moment. “Morning sex, I guess.”

Bokuto nods sagely, as if that's at all useful.

“Anything new?” Daichi asks.

Hinata pushes the heels of his hands against his eyes. “I feel like... we lived together? But that doesn't make any sense. I think I'd remember that.”

“Welcome to the club,” Daichi mutters.

“Maybe the dreams are prophetic,” Bokuto muses.

“Iwaizumi was sure they were in the past,” Daichi points out. “And as impossible as that is, I actually agree. They _feel_ like memories.”

Hinata groans into his hands. “I don't even know his name. Just that he's a dragon.”

All the air wheezes out of Daichi's lungs. On top of that, Bokuto sits up so quickly that Hinata tumbles off of him and nearly shoves Daichi off the bed. He catches himself, and Hinata, just barely.

Kuroo makes an angry noise from behind Bokuto. “What the _hell_ , Bo.”

Bokuto ignores him in favor of grabbing at Hinata's cheeks and forcing him to make eye contact. “You're sure?”

Hinata's brow furrows. His voice is only a little muffled from Bokuto's grip. “Yef?”

“That makes no sense,” Daichi manages, even as a flicker of recognition flashes through him.

“But it does!” Bokuto insists. “I know that too! And some of the others—there's a wolf and a unicorn—”

“A _unicorn_?” Daichi echoes, dumbfounded.

“Yes, a unicorn,” Bokuto says, with such conviction that Daichi doesn't even think about arguing.

Kuroo suddenly sits up on his elbow. “Wait,” he blurts out. “I read something—”

“Jesus, you're loud,” Iwaizumi says from the armchair. He doesn't bother opening his eyes.

“You snore,” Bokuto fires back.

Iwaizumi opens his eyes to glare, but otherwise doesn't answer.

Daichi pins Bokuto with a deadpan stare. “You do too. I don't know how Kuroo deals with it.”

Kuroo slips off the bed and starts searching through papers on the desk. “That's what the pillows are for.”

Bokuto looks stricken.

Hinata pries Bokuto's hands off his face. “Stop! What's going on? Kuroo, what did you find? Are all of our soulmates magic?”

“Soulmates are already pretty magic, I think,” Daichi points out.

“Yes, but something else...” Kuroo says, and then snags a piece of paper. There's notes scribbled across it in Kuroo's loopy handwriting, and Kuroo's eyes scan quickly.

Daichi's getting to the point at which he might as well just go along with any of the crazy theories they come with. Everything else before this was searching for clue, and they've been following their guts.

This feels right.

“So?” Iwaizumi prompts. He's closed his eyes again but is obviously awake enough to pay attention.

“There's this conspiracy floating around,” Kuroo starts, gaze drifting to the paper in his hands once more. “About how magical creatures have been living among us until some years back. Before we were born.” Kuroo pauses, turning to shuffle a few more papers around.

“...To what extent is 'living among us'?” Daichi asks.

“Entirely,” Kuroo replies. “Openly.”

“Wouldn't we _know_ already, then? If it wasn't a secret—”

Kuroo turns back and crosses his arms as he leans against the desk. “None of the theories say confidently _why_ it happened, but they say there was a split. Between the creatures and humans. That there's some sort of universal memory block on the muggles.”

“Of course there's an explanation,” Daichi mutters.

“A couple mention there was a lot of violence, and mainly human deaths, but that was covered up, too. Most of the theorists claim the block doesn't work on them because they have ancestors who were creatures,” Kuroo adds. “It all actually sounds... rather reasonable, if you can get past how unbelievable it sounds.”

Iwaizumi cracks an eye open. “How does that work exactly?”

“What?”

“The, uh, creature ancestor thing.”

“Most—supposedly—have human forms,” Kuroo says.

“So they're in hiding,” Daichi clarifies. “And here I was thinking we could just ask around and get directions to the nearest dragon.”

Hinata slaps weakly at Daichi's leg.

Daichi sighs. “I'm sorry,” he tells Hinata. Then, to Kuroo: “Forgive me for being a natural skeptic.”

Kuroo gives a shrug. “It doesn't explain everything,” he says. “But it's closer than anything else we've gotten.”

“I'll bite,” Daichi finally says. “We're looking for magical creatures disguised as humans. How do we tell?”

“Nothing, as far as I know,” Kuroo admits.

“Does it really change anything?” Iwaizumi asks. He stands and stretches, back cracking. “So we thought we were looking for humans, but we're not. We'd _planned_ to search the city for humans. And we're _still_ searching for human-looking things. Whatever we come up with, it doesn't change anything if they're human or something else.”

“He's right,” Bokuto says. “Even if it sounds crazy.”

“It really does,” Daichi mumbles. But even as he speaks, his mind's eye provides a picture of a white stag, antlers curling towards the stars, and with it, Daichi feels the same pull forward. The same tug in his chest towards the silver-haired man he knows he's in love with.

“I need a shower,” Iwaizumi announces. He makes his way towards the door but pauses to turn back to them. “Hinata, you coming?”

Hinata's face lights up and he scrambles off the bed.

“Are we meeting up later?” Kuroo asks. “I want to know how long I have to fuck Bo into the bed sheets before we get back to work.”

Both Bokuto and Hinata flush red. Daichi just pins Kuroo with an unamused stare. Kuroo shrugs, unashamed.

“Lunch?” Iwaizumi offers. “What time is it now?”

“Like...” Daichi checks his phone. “Ten.” He turns to Kuroo as he picks himself up off the bed. “Plenty of time for you to get off while the rest of us go clean up.”

“Sounds great,” Kuroo says with a grin. “Right, Bo?”

Bokuto hides his face in on hand but uses his other to send them all a thumbs-up.

Daichi follows Iwaizumi and Hinata out.

Iwaizumi glances once back at the door to Bokuto and Kuroo's room. “Are they always like that?”

“You have no idea,” Daichi replies.

Iwaizumi lets out a contemplative noise. “For some reason... I remember them being, well, tamer.”

Daichi's eyebrows arch towards his hairline. “Tame? _Kuroo_? _Bokuto_? I know I got a bigger taste than most people because I roomed with them, but I don't think I'd ever describe them as tame. Even if I'd met them _once_.”

Iwaizumi snorts.

After a beat of silence, Hinata says, “Maybe it's not a memory from this life. Maybe it's the one we keep seeing.”

For some reason, Daichi's mind sticks on the words _from_ this _life_.

Were there other lives? Before this one?

He doesn't realize he's stopped walking until Hinata and Iwaizumi both stop ahead of him and look back.

“Hinata,” Daichi breathes. “You're a genius.”

“Really?” Hinata grins without any ulterior motive. “Why's that?”

“We're soulmates with these creatures, right?” Daichi explains slowly, still working it out in his head. “What happens if one soulmate dies and the other keeps living for—for—who knows how long?”

Iwaizumi shrugs. “I'm not sure if there are exactly rules for that scenario.”

“But what if—” Daichi takes a moment to acknowledge how insane he sounds, and then barrels on anyway. “What if the soulmate thing is stronger than death? The memories actually _are_ memories. From our lives before this. When we knew our soulmates. And now that we're back, we're being drawn back to them.”

Without waiting for a response, Daichi jogs back towards Kuroo and Bokuto's room. He bangs on the door. “Stop having sex for a minute! I figured something out!”

Bokuto opens the door, shirtless and hair disheveled, but otherwise decent.

“This better be quick,” Kuroo calls from where he's laid out on the bed. At least he has pants on, which is more than most times Daichi's walked in on them.

In his excitement of relaying this new theory to Kuroo and Bokuto—in the excitement of watching their eyes light up with understanding—Daichi doesn't notice Hinata's horrified expression while he waits outside the door with Iwaizumi.

“They think we're _dead._ ”

 

Keiji is the first to wake.

It's nearly midday, sunlight leaking past the treetops and shining off of Tobio's scales. He and Kenma came out pretty late the night before, so Keiji doesn't feel particularly bad about sleeping the morning away.

Over the course of the night, Suga had let the rest of his transformation take him, and now a white stag is laying on the ground under Tobio's wing. Tooru had at some point listed to the side, and is now laying on the ground, back to Tobio's side and still clinging to Kenma's scruff.

Keiji stands, tossing his head back and walking a bit to stretch out his legs. He considers going for a run, before the others wake, but that idea falls through when Tobio lifts his head to watch as Keiji stamps at the ground.

Keiji snorts at him. Tobio snorts back, a tendril of smoke curling from his maw.

Begrudgingly, Keiji pulls his true form back into himself. Already he mourns the breeze in his mane and the freedom that accompanies his bare flank, but as his human appearance settles, he feels a bit more at ease.

Tobio snorts again, and Keiji goes over to him. He runs his hands over Tobio's snout, then reaches up to pet behind his ears, where the scales are softer and more sensitive. Tobio lets out a grumbling noise at the attention. If Keiji didn't know any better, he'd call it a purr.

“Good morning,” Keiji says, and Tobio blinks at him. Keiji's gaze drifts over to where Tobio's holding his wing closer to his body, completely encasing the others. He'd lowered it as the night went on, probably getting tired from holding it up over them. “How is your wing?”

At that, Tobio stands, flapping both of his wings experimentally, sending a gust of wind directly on top of their sleeping friends. Kenma leaps up with a surprised bark while Tooru and Suga struggle to gain their bearings.

And then, the dragon is gone.

Tobio winces once he's back into his human form, one arm reaching up to rub at his shoulder.

“Sore,” he tells Keiji.

“Here,” Keiji says, motioning for Tobio to turn around. He presses onto the tendons on Tobio's shoulder, drags the pressure down, just on the edge of his spine.

Tobio lets out a relieved sigh, and Keiji takes that as a sign to continue.

Kenma pads over, nudging Keiji's leg.

“I can't pet you. My hands are busy,” Keiji says.

Tobio, instead, reaches down with his good arm and wiggles his fingers. Kenma bumps his nose into Tobio's hand until Tobio's fingers fall to his ears and start scratching.

“You're all whipped for the dog,” Tooru says from where he's laying flat on his back on the grass.

Keiji sends him a blank stare. “You were cuddling with him. The entire night.”

Tooru doesn't respond to that one. Tobio laughs.

“Besides,” Keiji continues. “Kenma's rut starts soon. Let him soak up some attention before he starts getting antsy.”

“He can always come over if he's so inclined,” Tooru chirps.

“Tooru, I think you just want a dog,” Tobio says. “You could just... Go get one.”

“But a dog requires training!” Tooru protests, sitting up. “And Kenma is already so well behaved.”

“For _you_ ,” Keiji retorts. “You don't have to deal with his ruts. Or convince him to do laundry.”

Kenma growls, flops onto his side, and uses his back legs to kick at Keiji's shin.

Keiji glances down at him. “Don't give me that. You know it's true.”

“I see everyone's feeling better,” Suga's voice hums. Keiji's gaze flicks to him to find he's half transformed, antlers still resting on his head and fur covering his body but otherwise human.

Keiji hums, noncommittal, and taps on Tobio's shoulder to indicate he's done with the massage.

Tobio stretches and groans appreciatively. “Thank you, Keiji.”

They both go to sit near Tooru and Suga, settling onto the grass. Kenma rolls around on his back for a bit before bounding over and plopping himself in Keiji's lap.

Tooru makes grabby hands at him, but Kenma just growls and stays where he is.

“You've hurt his feelings,” Suga tells Tooru. “No more cuddles for you.”

Tooru pouts. Kenma doesn't budge.

Keiji leans back on his hands and focuses on Suga. “It's still here, Koushi.”

Suga sighs. “I know. But there really is nothing we can do.”

Tobio draws his knees to his chest. “It's getting oppressive.”

“The static before the storm,” Tooru adds, with just a hint of his dramatics. “I don't like just waiting for whatever is coming.”

“I don't think it's going to be another genocide,” Suga says slowly. “And I'm not... entirely certain if it's bad, but considering our past experience... I'd rather be cautious.”

“We should lie low,” Tobio says, and then glances around and snorts. “Because that's _exactly_ what we were doing last night.”

“We should stay in the apartments from now on. Until this passes.” Keiji threads his fingers absently through Kenma's fur. “Never go out alone. Keep the others up to date. Group chat for _everything_. We need good communication, in case something happens. Tobio, you're welcome to move in with me and Kenma for the time being.”

Kenma's tail wags.

Tobio huffs out a noise. “I think I'd prefer to stay out of the way during Kenma's rut. He gets grabby.”

Keiji nods and glances at Suga.

“If not Keiji's, then we'd be happy to have you,” Suga adds without missing a beat.

Tooru sends him a withering look, but stays otherwise silent.

“I'll be fine,” Tobio says. “I'm a floor above you guys. It's not going to make the difference between life and death if that's what it comes too. Besides, not many people willingly mess with a dragon.”

Suga's expression goes nostalgic and fond. “Shouyou was a welcome exception to that rule.”

Tobio snorts, but he's smiling.

“Do we agree on extra precautions, then?” Keiji asks.

There's a chorus of three _yes_ 's from the circle they've made.

Keiji looks down at Kenma, who thumps his tail once on the ground without looking up.

“ _Do we agree_?”

Kenma lets out a huff and shifts while on Keiji's lap. He ends up laying across Keiji's thighs, on his stomach. He drops his head onto his arms and lets out an annoyed little, “Fine.”

Keiji runs his hand down Kenma's spine. “Do you promise me you'll stay in for your rut?”

Kenma groans.

“Two,” Keiji allows. “Two of us go with you.”

Kenma glares up at him through his bangs. “...Fine.”

“Good,” Keiji says, letting his palm rest on the small of Kenma's back. “I'm not going to lose you because you get restless.”

Kenma scoffs but doesn't protest.

Keiji glances up at Tobio. Then Tooru, then Suga.

They weren't ready before. The last time they felt this clawing, weighty trepidation, they weren't ready. Keiji lost Koutarou and Tetsurou because instead of preparing, he waited in fear for the feeling to pass. Maybe a little bit of that fear never really left him.

This time, he's going to do what he can.

 

“So,” Koutarou says softly. His fingers trace nonsense patterns onto Tetsurou's thighs, bracketing his hips, and he leans more heavily against Tetsurou's chest. “This is really happening, huh?”

Tetsurou rests his chin on Koutarou's shoulder and settles his arms more securely around Koutarou's waist. “Yeah.”

Koutarou falls silent. Tetsurou can practically hear the thoughts tumbling around in his head. He'll let Koutarou simmer for a little, and eventually he'll talk. Besides, Tetsurou knows how to expedite that process.

Koutarou's arms rest on top of Tetsurou's around his waist. He intertwines their fingers together, squeezing tight. Tetsurou braces himself for something dramatic.

“Are we gonna be okay?” Koutarou whispers.

Tetsurou hesitates, taken aback. “Kou, what's wrong?”

Koutarou sniffles softly, and Tetsurou holds him tighter, presses a kiss to his shoulder.

“I mean... I know we both have two soulmates, and it's the same two, we're pretty sure,” Bokuto explains. “I get that. That's not what I'm worried about.”

“Okay...” Tetsurou says slowly, trying to follow Koutarou's train of thought.

“B-but...” Koutarou wriggles in Tetsurou's grasp, pushing himself up until he can tilt his head back on Tetsurou's shoulder and looking pleadingly at him. “But what if _we're_ not soulmates?”

Tetsurou narrows his eyes. “Kou, that's crazy.”

“But what if we find them and you would rather be with them than me?” Koutarou's eyes are shining with tears that haven't quite fallen yet.

“That's crazy,” Tetsurou repeats, pressing a kiss to Koutarou's temple. “Because I am madly in love with you. And even falling in love with _our_ soulmates won't change that.”

Koutarou sniffles, but doesn't protest.

“Besides,” Tetsurou continues gently. “There's no way we're not soulmates. Remember how we met?”

Koutarou lets out a little snort, something not quite happy—not yet.

“We met in the most cliché romcom way,” Tetsurou says.

“I spilled coffee on you,” Koutarou mumbles.

“Exactly,” Tetsurou says. “Do you know how many random variables are required to spill coffee on someone?”

Koutarou turns and bites at Tetsurou's neck disapprovingly. Tetsurou lets out a little sigh, anyway, even as the bite turns painful. “Shut up,” Koutarou huffs against his skin. “You're talking out of your ass.”

“You know how I _absolutely_ know we're soulmates, Kou?”

“How?”

“Because I remember how we met before, too. In our last lives.”

Koutarou perks up a little at that. “Really?”

Tetsurou nods and presses a kiss to Koutarou's neck. “You were already dating Keiji. You just didn't know it yet.”

Koutarou tenses. “Keiji...?” he tastes the name. It sounds so _right_ to Tetsurou, falling from Koutarou's lips. Koutarou nods, accepting this, and something brightens in his gaze, surprise and epiphany and excitement. “You were dating Kenma.”

“Yup,” Tetsurou says, because how could he disagree? He feels like a puzzle, and the last pieces are finally being put in place. _Kenma_ just adds to the bigger picture, another piece in all that makes up Kuroo Tetsurou. He can't deny it any more than he could deny his hair is black or his eyes are amber or he loves Koutarou.

Kenma and Keiji.

They, too, are a part of him.

“Tetsu?” Koutarou asks in a small voice.

“Sorry,” Tetsurou says, pressing another kiss against the column of Koutarou's throat.

“Keep going?”

Tetsurou licks his lips and pauses. “The story or the kisses?”

Koutarou snorts at him. “Both.”

Tetsurou runs his lips up to Koutarou's jaw. His words brush against his skin. “We were kids, then. Dumb and free and passionate. We were at a training camp, on opposing volleyball teams, and you wanted to keep practicing. Keiji tried to get you to go to sleep, but you just decided you'd find a new partner to practice with.”

“And I found you,” Koutarou breathes.

“And you found me,” Tetsurou echoes. “And from then on out, we couldn't keep our hands off each other.” Tetsurou lets his hands slide from Koutarou's waist to his hips, fingers digging in to where there are probably bruises forming from when they went at it less than an hour ago.

Koutarou lets out a little laugh. He bites at Tetsurou's neck again, this time playful and teasing, and Tetsurou lets out an appreciative hum.

“Kenma took convincing,” Koutarou recalls.

“He warmed up to you eventually,” Tetsurou murmurs. “They both were so in love with you. We were all so—ahh, _Kou—_ ” Koutarou sucks on the spot he'd bitten on earlier, taking advantage of the fact the skin is still tender. “S-so smitten.”

“Of course you were,” Koutarou says, and Tetsurou knows that's the exact moment his mood turns around into something dangerous.

Koutarou turns in Tetsurou's arms, rocking his hips down onto Tetsurou with sudden interest. He plants his hands on the pillows Tetsurou is using to prop himself up and leans forward until their lips are almost touching. Koutarou's eyes now shine not with tears, but with mischief.

“You still are.”

“F-fuck, Kou,” Tetsurou wheezes out.

Koutarou grins blindingly, sitting back on his heels and trailing a hand down Tetsurou's chest. “That's the plan.”

 

Kenma lets out an annoyed huff.

“So,” Tobio starts awkwardly. “Why... are you here?”

“Because Keiji won't let me go anywhere,” Kenma replies dryly from his place on Tobio's couch. He's flopped on his side, messing with something on his phone. “And the apartment is driving me nuts.”

Tobio nods, as if he understands.

Kenma suddenly rolls off the couch. He doesn't look up from his phone as he drifts past Tobio into the kitchen.

Tobio just stares after him.

For a moment there's silence, not even the sound of Kenma's feet padding against the floor, and then there's the sound of something crashing and Tobio realizes that maybe leaving Kenma unattended right before his rut is a bad idea. He trails into the kitchen, wary.

“So...” Tobio starts, and then trails off.

Kenma is halfway through climbing on Tobio's counter in order to dig through Tobio's taller cabinets. Tobio starts forward with the _intention_ of pulling Kenma down, but reconsiders. Last year, Keiji kept Kenma inside the apartment for the week of his rut and Kenma sulked the entire time. Tobio obviously didn't get the worst end of the deal, since he doesn't live with Kenma, but he also doesn't want to be the one responsible for pissing him off.

So, instead, he lets Kenma do what he wants. Mistwolves, Tobio supposes, are a lot like dragons in that respect. Stubborn to a fault.

Usually, Kenma is only obstinate about the stuff he _dislikes_. During his rut? He's impossible.

Tobio doesn't know how Keiji manages.

Then again, it's not like Shouyou was a walk in the park, either. He and Tobio probably had more make-up sex than even Tooru and Hajime. There was never anything _serious_ that they argued about, but enough to get each other pretty riled up.

“I can _smell_ you,” Kenma grumbles around a mouth full of cookies. “What are you thinking about?”

Tobio feels his cheeks heat. “Nothing.”

Kenma munches on another cookie. “I don't really care,” he tells Tobio. “But I figured it would make for conversation.”

Tobio pins him with an incredulous look. “You're insufferable on your rut, you know that?”

Kenma hops up onto Tobio's counter. He shrugs. “I think it'll officially start tomorrow.” His gaze drops. “I'm sorry. I'm stressed, and Keiji's stressed, so it's making me more stressed.”

“Fair enough, I guess.” Tobio pads over and joins Kenma in sitting on the counter. He manages to snag a cookie out of the box before Kenma makes a face and moves the box away from him. As if the cookies aren't Tobio's in the first place.

Tobio rolls his eyes as he chews. “What'd you knock over, anyway?”

Kenma motions at the kitchen sink with the cookie box. In comes close enough within reach that Tobio catches Kenma's wrist and steals another one of _his own_ cookies.

“Didn't knock anything over,” Kenma says. “You left a plate out.”

“Huh,” Tobio says. “You actually care, sometimes, huh?”

Kenma sticks his tongue out, looking vaguely disgusted.

Tobio finds himself chuckling.

“You too,” Kenma says after a bit. “Maybe not a lot of things. But you're passionate. I'm just... Apathetic.”

“Not when it comes to video games,” Tobio points out. “Or Keiji.”

Kenma glances up at him with something like surprise in his gaze, and then ducks his head to hide behind his bangs.

“So...” Tobio says. He reaches for the cookies and Kenma offers up the box to him. “How's work?”

“Eh,” Kenma huffs. “It's work. I have a project I'm supposed to be working on right now. Deadline's the end of the month. I'm too restless to work now, though, and I'm not going to do anything during my rut this week.”

“Procrastination at its finest,” Tobio says. “Spoken like a true programmer.”

Kenma snorts. “You?”

“Eh,” Tobio echoes. “Decent batch of kids this year. Couple of them might have promise as athletes.”

“I still don't know how you manage so many kids,” Kenma mumbles.

Tobio shrugs.

“Then again,” Kenma continues thoughtfully. “You did date Shouyou.”

Tobio shoves Kenma's shoulder with his own, and Kenma laughs.

Tobio hops off the counter and turns to Kenma. “You down for Super Smash?”

“Of _course_ ,” Kenma quips at him, hopping off the counter.

Tobio knows he's going to get his ass handed to him in any video game they play, but it's a welcome distraction from the electric charge in the air, making Tobio's skin crawl. It's the same heavy feeling that has Kenma reacting so poorly to his upcoming rut and it keeping the rest of them on edge at best.

And even more, well on his way to his third win, Kenma looks like he's feeling better, and Tobio decides that's enough for him.

 

_“Dai.”_

_Daichi yawns and rolls over, burying his face into the warm space between Suga's shoulder blades._

_Suga laughs and reaches back to paw at Daichi's waist. “Daichi, c'mon, I wanna ask you something.”_

_Daichi nuzzles against Suga's shoulder, but rouses himself enough to be mostly awake. It's late, afternoon by now. Daichi must have fallen asleep while Suga was talking about something._

_“Sorry,” Daichi mumbles. He yawns again._

_Suga rolls over to meet Daichi's eyes. “It's okay,” he purrs. “I slept in the car on the way back.”_

_“I should get up, anyway,” Daichi says. He sits up and stretches. “I need to water the plants.”_

_Suga tips his head back, showing off the pale of his neck. He's trying to keep Daichi in bed with him and Daichi knows it. “Don't you trust Asahi to have taken care of them?”_

_Daichi gives Suga a pointed look. “Really?”_

_Suga deflates from his attempts at being alluring (he's succeeding, but Daichi refuses to give in) and dissolves into snickers._

_“I have to catch up on work, too,” Daichi mumbles. “Who knows what sort of disasters they've gotten into while I was gone.”_

_“Oh, come on,” Suga says. “Your team is great. I'm sure they're fine without their fearless leader.”_

_“The last time I left them alone for less than two hours—at your insistence, I might add, because you wanted attention—”_

_“Rut,” Suga points out, but Daichi ignores the interruption._

_“—They managed to get Tanaka stuck in a mud pit that_ they _made. There wasn't any mud around, Suga! It didn't rain! I don't even know_ how— _”_

_“Dai,” Suga hums, drawing Daichi's gaze. “You're stressing.”_

_“I am,” Daichi admits. “I think some of my mom's personality rubs off on my every time we go visit.”_

_“Speaking of,” Suga says. He sits up, expression going serious. “Your mom got me thinking.”_

_“Oh no,” Daichi says dryly, but he half means it. His mother can be... Overzealous._

_Suga reaches for him and Daichi goes to the other side of their bed to sit next to him. Suga reaches for Daichi's hands, and absently plays with Daichi's wedding band. Suga's own ring is on a necklace to prevent it from being accidentally broken when Suga shifts._

_“What is it?” Daichi prompts gently._

_Suga bites his lip, and looks up at Daichi through his lashes. With a different atmosphere, the gesture would be coy, but right now Daichi can tell Suga is anxious about whatever he's going to say._

_“Koushi?” Daichi says, voice pitching tight with concern. “You can tell me. Whatever it is.”_

_“You...” Suga finally says. “You want kids, right?”_

_Daichi almost breathes a sigh of relief. Instead, he quirks an eyebrow at Suga, heart pounding. “Well, yeah, someday. Was my mom trying to pressure you into adopting?”_

_“No!” Suga says quickly. Then: “Well, yes, but that's not the point. I just...” He spins Daichi's wedding band around, playing absently with Daichi's hands. “I'm going to live a long time... and it's not that I feel like we're running out of time, but... I want to make the most of the time I have with you, Dai.”_

_Suga takes a deep breath and looks up at Daichi, meeting his gaze. “So if you want to start a family, I want that, too. I want you to be happy, and—you'd be an amazing dad.”_

_There's a warmth that washes over Daichi—something soft and kind and—Suga's looking at him with the sort of gaze that makes Daichi question how he ever managed to get this lucky._

_“If you don't want to, yet,” Suga quickly backpedals at Daichi's silence. “Then we can wait, too, it's—”_

_Daichi surges forward and kisses Suga, lips sweet and surprised under his own. When he pulls back, Suga's expression is content and so, so in love. “Koushi, we'll talk about this more,” Daichi tells him. “As soon as I finish with the plants.”_

_Suga laughs as Daichi pulls away and heads for the bedroom door. “You ass,” he snorts. “You absolute ass.”_

_Daichi grins over his shoulder. “You love my ass.”_

_Suga hums, gaze falling to trail over Daichi's backside. “Well, I can't say no to such a fine specimen. Hurry up with your precious garden. I want to show aforementioned ass my appreciation.”_

_Daichi turns to the door, and then decides the plants are_ probably _fine and that Asahi_ probably _can manage to keep Daichi's garden alive over the weekend. He promptly turns around. Suga's laughing that beautiful, twinkling laugh as Daichi tackles him to the bed._

Daichi's realizes he hasn't actually processed anything he's read in the past ten minutes.

His mind is filled with memories, slowly drifting back to him. Sun-kissed mornings and sweet smiles and—God, their _wedding_. Suga's suit had fit him like a charm, all strong shoulders and slim waist and silver hair stark against the dark fabric.

“Ugh,” Bokuto groans and flops face down onto the table. “We've been at this all day.”

Iwaizumi sighs. “We're not really getting anywhere. Daichi's been spacing out for the past hour, and I really don't think we can force ourselves to remember anything useful.”

“I was _married_ ,” Daichi blurts, and then blinks at Iwaizumi. “I've been paying attention,” he protests weakly. “Kinda.”

Iwaizumi's expression is blank as he stares back. “Congratulations,” he deadpans.

Kuroo snorts. It's a replacement for the laugh that Daichi assumes he doesn't have the energy for. They've been in this cafe since lunchtime, and darkness is finally creeping in across Amsterdam. After hours of work and downing coffee or tea, they have names:

Sugawara Koushi. Oikawa Tooru. Akaashi Keiji. Kozume Kenma. Kageyama Tobio.

Bits and pieces of their lives together filter in, too. Glimpses of their past happiness. It only makes the longing for the reunion even stronger.

“We can't give up now,” Hinata says with a small pout.

“I don't want to _give up_ ,” Bokuto says, lifting his head enough to rest his chin on the table. “Just... a break, maybe? I'm _hungry_.”

Hinata brightens at that. “I guess we need sustenance before we can keep going.”

Kuroo slumps against Bokuto. “I could do with a fun break, too, if I'm honest. This is... taxing, to say that least.”

Daichi nods. “We've been pretty dedicated since we got here.”

Iwaizumi shrugs.

Hinata shakes his head. “I'll keep looking,” he says stubbornly. Then, after a pause: “Well, after dinner.”

“C'mon, Hinata,” Kuroo prods. “You're in Amsterdam. Let's go clubbing or something. For one night.”

Hinata bites his lip and seems to be considering.

Iwaizumi sighs. “I think Kuroo has a point. Maybe not clubbing—”

“Clubbing!” Bokuto asserts stubbornly.

Iwaizumi keeps talking as if he hadn't interrupted. “But it's not like we're actually making any real progress. I don't know about you guys, but I'm on vacation. I'd like for it to actually feel like one.”

Hinata seems to realize he's severely outnumbered. He lets out a huff and his brow furrows, but he grumbles out a quiet, “Fine.”

“Not tonight,” Iwaizumi says. “I want to sleep in a bed at least once for a full night while I'm here. My neck is still sore from that chair.”

“Tomorrow, then,” Kuroo suggests. “I'll scope out the scene and see if I can find a good place.”

The table agrees and Daichi lets his mind wander. He's focused on a half-formed memory of Suga singing him to sleep, of Oikawa and Suga dancing in their living room while he and Iwaizumi watch from the couch until their soulmates drag them both into the circle and what was once a practiced dance becomes flustered and messy and affectionate. Also maybe a little drunk.

And then Iwaizumi shoves him out of the booth.

Daichi only barely manages to catch himself before he goes tumbling to the floor. He moves out of the way enough to Iwaizumi and Hinata out.

Iwaizumi stares at him and states, “You deserved that.”

Daichi must be making some sort of face because Hinata starts cackling.

“Yeah, yeah,” Daichi grumbles.

Kuroo musters the energy to snicker at him. “We're going to have to cut you off, Daichi. Didn't know you were such a lightweight you'd have issues with coffee.”

Daichi flips him the bird, and Kuroo laughs harder.

“Food,” Bokuto whines.

“Yes, food,” Daichi confirms. “Let's focus on that instead.”

“Food, then we make fun of Daichi,” Bokuto says.

Daichi scowls, but Iwaizumi pushes at his shoulder and gets him moving.

Kuroo, Bokuto, and Hinata trail after them.

Outside, Daichi lets himself take in the cool night air. It clears his head a bit, refreshes his mind, which has been working overtime recalling memories that it's not quite sure are actually memories and trying to think through a plan to find Suga.

“Don't space on us _again_ ,” Hinata teases, bumping his shoulder into Daichi's arm.

“You're just jealous I was married,” Daichi tells the group.

Kuroo snorts, throwing an arm over Daichi's shoulders. He sends a smirk in Bokuto's direction. “Yeah? Don't think you ever had a foursome.”

Iwaizumi's steps stutter, and Kuroo's eyebrows disappear behind his bangs.

“Well...” Iwaizumi starts, and glances at Daichi, cheeks red. “About that.”

Kuroo chokes on his own spit, and Bokuto lets out a suggestive coo.

Daichi feels heat creep towards his collar. “Was—was that when we were dancing?”

Iwaizumi ducks his head to hide his face. “Yeah.”

Daichi suddenly has a very vivid flash of memory: Iwaizumi's hazy gaze as he lazily jerks himself, watching Daichi fuck into Oikawa's willing mouth while Suga fucks Oikawa's ass.

The cold air doesn't seem quite so chilled, now, and Daichi lets out a quiet wheeze.

“...Can we just go get something to eat?” Hinata asks in a small voice.

For a moment, Daichi thinks the conversation has made him severely uncomfortable, but then he sees the flush of red on Hinata's cheeks and the furtive glance in Iwaizumi's direction.

Well. If Daichi ever thought Iwaizumi was a selfish man, he was sorely mistaken.

Iwaizumi shoves his hands in his pockets and walks faster, pulling ahead of their little group. “Hurry up, then,” he grunts.

Kuroo's resulting laugh is nearly hysterical.

 

Keiji crosses his arms over his chest, expression impassive.

“We'll be fine,” Suga tells him. “We have, what, forty years of being functioning adults tucked under our belts?”

“Thirty-nine,” Keiji corrects.

Tooru waves a dismissive hand at Keiji. “Which is one more than you,” he tells Keiji. “Which means we can make adult decisions and take care of ourselves.”

Keiji stares at them for a moment longer, and then his shoulders relax a fraction. He sighs. “Please. Be careful.”

There's a noise from inside the apartment, and Tooru quirks an eyebrow. “We could take him with us,” he offers.

Keiji glances towards the ceiling, like he's praying to whatever gods might be listening. He looks over his shoulder and calls out. “Kenma? Suga and Tooru are going to the park.”

A single bark answers.

Keiji runs his hand through his hair, clearly stressed. He looks pointedly at Suga. “I don't recall your ruts ever being this bad.”

Suga shrugs. “Mine usually involve a lot more scratching up trees.”

“You say that,” Tooru quips, “But I've caught you jacking off way too often for that to be all there is.”

“I'm sorry,” Suga retorts. “I didn't realize that you had the right to judge, what with _your_ spotless record.”

Tooru lets out a little _hmph_ at that but doesn't respond.

Suga turns back to Keiji. “If you can convince him to come, we can probably help him burn off some energy.”

“I'm not entirely sure if he's willing to leave at this point. He's had his nose stuck in one of Kou's old jackets for the past couple of hours. I don't know if he's willing to sleep, either.”

Suga nods. Regardless, he calls into the apartment: “Sure you don't want to come, Kenma? Last chance. We're about to leave.”

Kenma barks again, lower and more insistent.

“Alright, fine,” Suga calls back. “Don't go too hard on Keiji. He's already stressed.”

“See you later, Keiji,” Tooru adds, and loops his arm with Suga's.

Keiji nods stiffly and then closes the door.

Suga lets Tooru pull him away. They get to the stairwell before Tooru announces, “Kenma is totally sneaking off tonight.”

Suga sighs. “Of course he is. He lives to give Keiji heart attacks.”

“I used to always think Koutarou and Tetsurou were the ones that needed to be kept on a leash,” Tooru hums thoughtfully.

“That was in poor taste,” Suga deadpans. Tooru shrugs. “But you're right. Kenma doesn't listen to anyone.”

“That's the difference between your ruts,” Tooru observes. “You get needy and want attention. Kenma flips between needy and aloof.”

Suga sighs. “Add impulsiveness on top of it and you have a disaster waiting to happen. He's going to get himself in a situation he doesn't like and then come back with his tail between his legs.”

Tooru snickers.

Suga sends him an unimpressed glare. “You started the dog metaphors.”

“Remember that time he sneaked off to a club when we first moved here?”

“Oh, God,” Suga groans. “Don't remind me. It was a mess trying to get him to come out of that tree.”

Tooru starts outright laughing but quickly sobers. “You know how on edge we've all been?”

Suga nods, not liking where this is going.

“We're probably going to have to get a mistwolf out of a tree again.”

Suga sighs. The worst part is that Tooru is nearly always right. “Keiji is going to kill him.”

 

It's not that Koutarou doesn't like clubs.

He's usually a fan. The music gets him pumped, and Tetsurou is wicked when he dresses for the occasion—which he has, in tight black jeans, and _damn_ , Koutarou hasn't been able to take his eyes off Tetsurou's ass.

It's just... It doesn't feel quite right, without Keiji and Kenma.

He remembers dragging the both of them out into the nightlife. They usually preferred their space, and it always took convincing on his and Tetsurou's parts. Or, when Kenma's rut hit, it'd be him itching to go out but wanting the others close to them still.

Koutarou licks his lips as Tetsurou returns to their group's table with drinks. He suddenly has a very vivid memory of watching Tetsurou make out with Kenma against the wall of a dim-lit club. They must have been much younger, then, because with the image comes a distinct flood of adrenaline that has Koutarou wondering just how much trouble they got into when they were fresh out of high school.

“You good, Bo?” Tetsurou asks, sliding into the booth next to him.

“Fine,” Koutarou manages. He'd been watching the table, left to his thoughts, while Hinata dragged Iwaizumi and Daichi out to dance

Tetsurou slides in next to him, automatically draping an arm over Koutarou's shoulders. He motions at the drink he'd placed on the table. “Try that and tell me if you like it.”

Koutarou reaches for the glass. The liquid is an aggressive shade of blue. “What is it?”

“I have no idea,” Tetsurou tells him, taking a sip from his own drink. “The menu was in Dutch. I thought it'd be more fun if I didn't bother asking for a translation.”

Koutarou tips back a large swallow. Whatever it is, it's _definitely_ alcoholic, but also sweet enough to offset it. “It's good,” Koutarou reports.

Tetsurou immediately snags the drink from him and takes a sip. “Damn. Should have gotten one of these. Mine's pretty much straight rum. Less fun.”

Koutarou steals the glass back. “You already gave me this one.” He takes another drink and sets the glass down on the table.

Tetsurou catches onto him immediately. Turning more fully to Koutarou, he asks, “Is everything okay?”

Koutarou nods, but before he can answer, Iwaizumi makes his way back to the table and plops down on the opposite booth. In the twenty minutes since they got here, he's already worked up a thin sheer of sweat across his skin.

“You both can go dance, if you want,” he offers. “I can watch the table and drinks.”

“Bo?” Tetsurou offers.

Koutarou glances at Tetsurou, and decides that he's definitely not going to stop feeling down if he just sits here all night. “Yeah, okay.”

So Koutarou tips back what's left of his drink, feels the alcohol slide down his throat, and then lets Tetsurou pull him towards the dancing crowd.

They find Daichi and Hinata, somehow. Tetsurou manages to sneak up on Hinata and scare him bad enough to make him literally jump into Daichi's arms. The sight alone is enough to get Koutarou into a better mood. Hinata's face is priceless.

It's almost funny, how all their planning and worry doesn't matter in the end.

Koutarou is dancing against Tetsurou, hands on Tetsurou's hips and occasionally teasing down the outside of his thighs. Hinata and Daichi are dancing a few feet away. Koutarou glances up to laugh at Daichi's horrible attempts at twerking on a dare from Tetsurou, and that's when he notices.

It's almost funny. How much they stressed, and researched, and panicked. When all they need to do, really, was _trust_.

However they got here, whatever guided them: it's not done with them yet.

Koutarou doesn't realize he's stop moving until Tetsurou starts calling his name over the beat of the music.

His hair is more blonde than when Koutarou last remembers, though there's still dark roots peeking out on the top of his head. He's dancing alone, swaying with his eyes closed, body controlled and taut as he moves within the crowd.

“ _Koutarou_ ,” Tetsurou's voice snaps Koutarou's gaze back to him.

Tetsurou is looking at him with concern. “...feeling okay?”

“Kenma,” Koutarou manages, voice harsher and rougher than he intends.

And then he's pushing through the crowds.

Tetsurou catches at Koutarou's wrist—not to stop him, but to let Koutarou lead him on.

Koutarou manages to get pretty close, and then the song changes and Kenma's eyes flicker open, golden gaze sharp as he surveys his surroundings. Like this, Koutarou watches as he comes back to himself, the typically shy demeanor settling back over him as he shrinks away from any possibility of touch from nearby dancers.

And then his gaze lands on Koutarou.

Koutarou takes a step forward, Tetsurou behind him.

Kenma's eyes go wide—then narrow—

And then he turns and disappears.

Koutarou calls after him, struggling to push through the crowd and find him. He and Tetsurou search for Kenma for a while, hoping he'd just slipped away into some secluded corner of the building. But after nearly half an hour of no luck, they eventually go to regroup with the others.

They find Daichi and Iwaizumi at the table, each lazily nursing drinks.

Koutarou slams his hands on the table.

“We saw Kenma,” Tetsurou supplies at Iwaizumi and Daichi's surprised expressions.

Koutarou feels his eyes burn. “He's gone, now.”

“What?” Daichi's brows furrow.

“I lost my chance,” Koutarou mumbles. “I lost him.”

“Sit down,” Daichi suggests. “We'll figure something out.”

Koutarou grits his teeth, holding back tears, and slides into the booth.

 

Kenma struggles with the lock, but before he can manage to fit the key into the door, it opens.

Keiji stands in the doorway, looking a mixture of concerned and furious. Mostly furious. But Kenma doesn't have the strength to face his anger, now.

“You went out,” Keiji bites out. “ _Alone_. Kenma, you—”

He breaks off when Kenma looks up at him. Kenma knows he can see the tears staining his cheeks.

Keiji grabs Kenma's shoulder and drags him inside, holding him to his chest. His voice is tight when he speaks against Kenma's hair. “What happened.”

“K-Keiji,” Kenma chokes out. He fights for air around his sobs. “Ko-Koutarou.”

Keiji goes stiff against Kenma. “What?”

Kenma grips onto Keiji's shirt, clinging onto his chest. “I—I don't—I _saw_ him.”

“Kenma,” Keiji whispers. “He's gone. You know that.”

“I know,” Kenma gasps out. “But—I saw h-him. He reached f-for me.”

Keiji runs a soothing hand down Kenma's back. “Then why didn't you stay?” he asks calmly. “Or bring him back?”

Kenma lets out another loud sobs. “I didn't—I didn't think he was _real_. He _can't_ be.”

“Shh,” Keiji soothes, even though Kenma can feel his heart hammering against his ribcage. “I'm taking you to Suga and Tooru.”

Kenma nods, but he keeps his grip on Keiji's shirt. “Don't go.”

Keiji runs a hand through Kenma's hair. “I—” he starts, and then swallows hard. “Kenma, I—”

“I _know_ ,” Kenma says. “If t-there's a _chance_... but we b-both know it's not really h-him.”

“I'll take Tobio with me,” Keiji says gently. “Suga and Tooru will take care of you.”

Kenma nods again. He's not going to try any harder to stop Keiji. Because if their roles were reversed, Kenma would have insisted on checking it out himself. Koutarou was the only body they never found. The chances are so, so slim, but...

God, to have him _back_. That hope feels like the only sliver of happiness Kenma has, even though he _knows_. He knows. It's futile. He knows this. His fingers know it, with how long its been since they've caressed Kou's skin; his tongue knows it, the taste of Kou's lips long forgotten; his wolf knows it, an instinctual packbond—broken.

And yet, his heart remains ignorant and hopeful.

 

Tobio is quiet as they make their way to the club that Kenma had directed them to. He doesn't need to say anything. Any commentary, Keiji's already played over his in head. They've been through this before. Today isn't going to be any different.

Disappointment. Anger. Sorrow.

It's been like this, for years.

Yet, if Keiji were ever to... If Koutarou was _alive_ , and Keiji were to brush it off as another hallucination, more wishful thinking. A missed chance is ten times worse than the painful reminder of Koutarou's death.

Inside, Keiji lets his eyes adjust to the lightning, eyes already trying to pick out a familiar face. He leans close enough to Tobio to hiss in his ear, “Wait here and see if you can find him.”

Tobio nods, and Keiji leaves his side to instead circle around the throngs of dancing people. His eyes skim over the bar, glancing over the shoulders of those leaning close to the counter as they call for drinks, but Keiji doesn't see Koutarou there and hadn't expected to.

If Koutaoru is at a club, then he's going to be at the center of the music, the moving bodies, the excitement and adrenaline.

Keiji doesn't let his brain focus on the details: that if Koutarou had lived, he would likely still bear scars from the attacks. That he'd be well into his fifties, and not that Koutarou _wouldn't_ go to a club in his fifties, it definitely makes each of these potential encounters more unlikely than the last. He doesn't think about the fact that, if Koutarou was alive, he would have done everything he could to find them.

Instead, Keiji just dives into the crowd, slipping past the roll of hips and reach of fingers. He feels like the unknown faces he sees in the corner of his eyes are blurred out, brain automatically disregarding those around him who are completely unimportant.

Glancing back, he sees catches a glimpse of Tobio still waiting near the wall, but then someone moves in Keiji's line of sight, and he's swallowed again by the crowd.

Keiji feels something in his chest tighten, that same anxious trepidation that's been looming over him for the past week.

Keiji makes it out to the other side of the crowd. His skin itches, both from the close contact with strangers and the heavy layer of renewed loss.

Someone grabs his wrist; that something in his chest snaps.

Keiji whirls, panic locking his muscles into stilted motions, ready to rip his hand free. He can't—

Keiji freezes.

Kenma must have been lying—confused—hallucinating— _something_.

Because it's not Koutarou that's holding onto Keiji's wrist, but Tetsurou.

“It's really you,” Tetsurou breathes out. Keiji only manages to understand what he's saying over the music by reading Tetsurou's lips, familiar and beckoning.

This isn't happening. Keiji's always been the most sane out of all of them. Tooru falls apart at times, Kenma and Tobio have their lows, and Keiji's found Suga sobbing onto the rings clutched in his hands on many occasions. Keiji's been trying to keep it together, because if he doesn't, who does? If he's falling apart, then who do the others rely on? Who does _Kenma_ rely on?

Keiji's heart is pounding. Tetsurou must be able to feel it where his fingers curl into Keiji's wrist. He doesn't say anything else, just pulls gently against Keiji's arm and leads him.

Keiji would follow him into the depths of hell, if needed, so why would this be any more dangerous?

Tetsurou pulls him away from the crowd, moving towards the tables pushed against the far wall, and Keiji can do nothing but follow. His entire being is shell-shocked into unquestioning faith that this is _real_. He trusts in the warm circle of Tetsurou's hold around his wrist; he trusts in the sight of Tetsurou's quiet smirk, fond and tentative, cast over his shoulder at Keiji; and he trusts in the beat of his heart, quick-paced, fluttering at the familiar grace of Tetsurou's body.

And when he sees Koutarou, scribbling something intently on a napkin while Daichi, Shouyou, and Hajime all lean close to see what he's doing, Keiji tells his brain to stop saying _this is impossible, this is impossible_ , because his heart is overjoyed to the point he fears it may stop entirely.

“Bo,” Tetsurou calls, and his voice is choked. “Look who I found.”

Koutarou's head whips up, and whatever he was doing is immediately abandoned when his eyes fall on Keiji. He's up in an instant, wrapping Keiji in a hug that literally lifts Keiji off his feet.

This feels so real.

Maybe Keiji isn't the sane one, after all.

“You're here!” Koutarou chirps happily in Keiji's ear. “I saw Kenma, but he ran away! Is he mad at us?”

“...Mad?” Keiji chokes out. He laughs, hysterical. “Why would he be mad?”

Koutarou pulls back to look at Keiji and pout. “I don't know... Did we do something bad in our last lives?”

Keiji closes his eyes, still feels Koutarou's hands on his shoulders. “Koutarou,” he breathes. “What the fuck are you talking about.”

Tetsurou's fingers skim down Keiji's arm from his shoulders down to the back of his hand. “Bo, they don't know, remember?” Keiji opens his eyes to find Tetsurou watching him. “We believe we've been... brought back. The past few days have been pretty crazy.”

Keiji finds himself laughing again, pitched high and wild. “All—all those times, we thought... It was so _futile_ , looking for you—and now—fuck, here you _are_.” Keiji's going to explode. “I've got to be dreaming. This is another fucking nightmare.”

“It's really us, Keiji,” Tetsurou says softly. “We don't know how, but we've gotten a second chance. Our memories are kinda spotty, but we all were drawn here. To you.”

“Yeah!” Koutarou agrees, loudly. As he always does. It's him. It's really him. “It feels weird doing stuff without you and Kenma now that we know!”

“You're...” Keiji trails off, and on the next inhale, his breath hitches fiercely. “I have to take you to Kenma. He needs to know.”

Tetsurou's hand comes to rest over Keiji's shoulder blade, smoothing over his back in soothing motions. “Breathe, Keiji. It's okay.”

Keiji realizes belatedly that he's still taking in sharp little breaths, only half-filling his lungs before his body abandons the inhale in favor of some sort of inherent panic. As Keiji is making a point to listen to Tetsurou, focusing on the weight of Tetsurou's hand, Koutarou glances over his shoulder.

“What about the others? We've only found you! They miss everyone, too...”

Keiji leans to look around Koutarou and take in the other at the table. They're all back. They're all together. Daichi, Hajime, Shouyou.

Shouyou. “Tobio is waiting near the door,” Keiji tells him, voice overwhelmed but determined to be heard.

Instantly, Shouyou perks up, not even giving Hajime a chance to move before he's climbing over his lap. Keiji feels a smile tug on his lips as Shouyou shoots past him and into the crowds behind him.

“The others are with Kenma,” Keiji says.

“Take us there,” Daichi says immediately. “Please.”

Keiji nods, but instead of moving, he leans towards Koutarou, trusting that he'll catch Keiji. “Just...” he murmurs against Koutarou's chest, wrapping his arms around his waist. Automatically, Tetsurou slips close behind him, pressing against Keijji's back and holding him between him and Koutarou. “Just give me a moment.”

 

When Shouyou first sees him, he's painted in brushstrokes of greens and blues, the club lighting casting odd shadows across Tobio's face. He's running his gaze across the crowds, obviously looking for someone. Shouyou shoves his way through the crowd, ducking under someone's arm, and when Tobio's gaze finally lands on him, it's like the entire room disappears.

The first thing Shouyou does is punch Tobio's shoulder as hard as he can.

Tobio's gaze flashes with hurt, rubbing at his arm. “Wha—”

Shouyou grabs the front of his shirt and slams their mouths together.

Rough and harsh and painful, and it's enough to make Shouyou realize how _real_ it is.

He doesn't know what happened to the others, and he's not even entirely sure if Tobio had been looking for _him_ , but now they're together, and Shouyou isn't going to let go.

He backs Tobio up against the wall, pushing up on his tiptoes to kiss him deeper. Tobio groans into his mouth and kisses him back just as fiercely.

They become just another couple in the club. Soulmates or strangers—it doesn't matter. Tobio is digging his fingers into Shouyou's shoulder blades and biting at his lips and grinding his hips against Shouyou's stomach. They're so lost in each other that it sweeps Shouyou away until there's nothing left but sensation.

“ _Hinata!_ ” someone screeches near his ear, and Shouyou jumps, startled.

Daichi is looking at him with seems to be grudging annoyance. Like he doesn't _want_ to interrupt them. Tobio's arms never leave Shouyou's waist, but his wide, shocked gaze is trained on Daichi.

“Outside,” Daichi says loudly to be heard over the music. “Meet us outside.”

Shouyou nods. Daichi disappears into the crowd again.

He turns back and meets Tobio's gaze, glowing in the odd light but so, so soft.

“Hi,” Shouyou tells him, and he's pretty sure Tobio can't _actually_ hear him.

But, he responds anyway, reaching up to brush a lock of Shouyou's hair away from his forehead. “Hi.”

 

They meet up with the others outside. Shouyou might think it cold if it weren't for the face that he was constantly touching Tobio in some way or another. The warmth of his skin spreads like liquid heat across Shouyou's body, keeping him guarded against the night.

“I think we're going home,” Tobio says, keeping Shouyou close to his side.

Keiji nods. He's tucked between Kuroo and Bokuto, shoulders touching. “Be careful,” he says, and then pauses. “It's gone.”

“What is?” Bokuto asks.

“The—the feeling.”

Tobio's grip on Shouyou's waist tightens, and his gaze is surprised. “You're right. This was it.”

Shouyou isn't sure exactly what's going on, but whatever it is, Tobio's mouth tilts up in a unguarded smile, and as long as he's happy, Shouyou's happy, too.

Keiji's smile isn't quite as wide, but it's full of relief. “We'll catch up later. We're going to the park.”

Tobio nods and guides Shouyou in the opposite direction of the others. They get maybe a block before Hinata tugs on Tobio's shirt.

Tobio turns to him, questioning, but Shouyou just wraps his arms around Tobio's waist as tightly as he can and _holds_.

“I missed you,” Shouyou tells the fabric of Tobio's shirt.

Tobio lets out a wet laugh. “I—I should be the one—”

Tobio stumbles back, then, taking Shouyou with him. He bumps into something, and Shouyou realizes that he's hit the barrier around the canals. Tobio's hands tighten at Shouyou's waist, and then, for a moment, Shouyou is flying.

Tobio's flipped their positions, setting Shouyou down on top of the concrete wall, thighs on either side of Tobio's chest. Like this, Shouyou has to bend down to kiss Tobio. He feels Tobio's arms around his waist, keeping him safe from falling back. Shouyou wraps his legs around Tobio, locking his ankles together behind his back.

Tobio pulls back, panting. His gaze flicks down to Shouyou's lips and then back up to study his face. “Do... do you remember what it's like to fly?”

Shouyou feels his breath hitch. Before he can form a solid answer, there's a ripping sound as Tobio's wings tear through the back of his t-shirt. Shouyou feels one brush against his leg and he shifts to accommodate them.

Shouyou tightens his hold around Tobio's neck, and with a powerful beat, they're in the air.

He hadn't quite forgotten what it was like to fly, but there are other details he'd missed. The taste of clouds, the sing of Tobio's wings through the air, the elation of being so absolutely and entirely free and in love.

 

_Iwaizumi Hajime hated Oikawa Tooru._

_The first time they have sex is during their third year of high school, after a loss to Shiratorizawa, their rival volleyball team. It's more of a one-sided rivalry, but Oikawa maintains they're fated enemies._

_He's splayed out on Hajime's bed, making himself at home with his legs hanging off the side of the mattress and being an absolute fucking brat. Hajime lets him because he knows it's Oikawa's defense mechanism. Lets him bitch and complain and cry because if doesn't, it will really hit him that they_ lost _._

_Oikawa falls silent for a moment, staring at Hajime's ceiling._

_“You're still sweaty and gross,” Hajime tells him. “Get off my bed.”_

_Oikawa lets out a noncommittal whine, but he sits up to kick off his shoes and tug off his knee pad and brace. He flops back down afterwards with a grunt._

_Hajime rolls his eyes. He starts tugging off his own shirt and drifts towards his closet to grab clean clothes._

_He turns back when he feels the burn of Oikawa's eyes on him._

_Oikawa has his head tilted to the side, calculating gaze grazing over Hajime's back. His lips are parted, breathing steady, body alluring on Hajime's bed._

_“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa whines, and Hajime resists the urges to shudder. “My knee hurts. Kiss it better.”_

_Hajime stares at him, incredulous. At eighteen, he already has a knee injury from being too stubborn to rest when he should. “It's your fault for overworking yourself.”_

_“But Iwa-chaaan.”_

_And then Hajime does something that neither of them seem to really expect: he obeys._

_He kneels next to his bed, nudging Oikawa's legs apart so he can settle between his knees. Hajime runs his hands up Oikawa's calves, fingers mapping smooth skin._

_Oikawa leans up on his elbows. He's still watching Hajime, pleased surprise in his lidded gaze._

_Hajime presses a kiss to the inside of Oikawa's bad knee. His skin tastes like sweat and defeat and determination. He meets Oikawa's gaze. Watches as Oikawa's tongue flicks out to lick his bottom lip. Hajime wants to taste his lips, too. Wonders if he can still taste Oikawa's pain when he's panting into Hajime's mouth._

_Hajime lets his lips wander upward, brushing along Oikawa's flesh and raising goosebumps as he goes. At the edge of Oikawa's shorts, Hajime bites down, and Oikawa whimpers in response._

_Hajime leans his temple against Oikawa's leg. “Better now?”_

_Oikawa takes in a shaky breath, swallows hard. “I think—maybe there's a couple other places that need your help.”_

_“Yeah?” Hajime hums, licking a stripe up Oikawa's thigh. Sweat and passion and Oikawa. “What hurts now?”_

_Oikawa grins, pleased with himself, and sits up. He puts his hand in front of Hajime, like a queen waiting for her king to pay her due respect._

_And damn it, Hajime does. He takes Oikawa's hand in his and brushes his lips over Oikawa's knuckles, one by one. There's a power in these hands that Hajime can't help but love. Sure, Oikawa is stubborn and an ass most of the time, but every time he serves, Hajime can't help but watch. Oikawa has mastered his own body, knows exactly how to make it do what he wants._

_Hajime wonders if he'll ever earn that same control over Oikawa. If one day Oikawa will let Hajime turn him pliant and easy, until Oikawa's body responds to Hajime's touch without an ounce of his normal stubborn mischief. Hajime's blood runs hot at the idea of it._

_Oikawa leans forward as Hajime kisses his wrist. He lets Hajime trail kisses up his arm, and by the time Hajime reaches the hem of his shirt sleeve, Oikawa is leaning close, breath fanning across Hajime's face when he turns to look at him. “Iwa-chan,” Oikawa whispers. “I want you t—”_

_But that's as far as Hajime lets him get. He grabs the nape of Oikawa's neck and surges up and pushes their lips together._

_They've been dancing around each other since they were kids, and now—this—_ finally _._

_Yeah, Iwaizumi Hajime hated Oikawa Tooru. Now, his body trembles with the adoration etched against his bones, branded into his nerves. When Hajime first enters Oikawa, spread out and beautiful underneath him, Oikawa sings, and Hajime breathes him in like oxygen._

Hajime knows he's going to see Oikawa Tooru for the first time in this life, but he's still not prepared for it. He doesn't think there was a single thing he could do to stop his lungs from running out of air at the sight of his soulmate, leaning back on his hands on the bank of a pond, tail floating on the still water. It's a different color than the last time Hajime saw it, but then again, that was a lifetime ago.

Hajime wants to go to him, but his legs feel like they're rooted to the ground. His muscles cry out for oxygen, and he finally sucks in a shuddering breath.

“Tooru,” Keiji whispers.

Tooru's gaze flicks towards them, and then with an awkward splash, he turns his entire body to face them, tail flopping onto the ground uselessly. His gaze goes from mild annoyance to wide and terrified in an instant.

“No—” Tooru hisses out, voice horrified. “N-no—it's not you—it's not—”

Needless to say, this is not quite the reaction Hajime expected. “Tooru,” he says gently.

“No, no!” Tooru cries again, and he squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head violently. He picks up one of his clawed hands and digs it into his hip, scratching viciously at the scales.

Keiji starts forward, but he has Kuroo and Bokuto clinging to him, so he's significantly slower than Hajime.

“Don't you _dare_ ,” Hajime growls suddenly, and his body finally remembers how to breathe, how to move. He stomps forward and rips Tooru's hand away from his own scales.

Tooru writhes and lashes out with his other hand, but Hajime catches his wrist and holds him in place.

“Tooru,” he bites out. “Tooru, look at me.”

Tooru shakes his head again. “ _You'renotrealyou'renotrealyou'renotreal_.”

Hajime transfers both of Tooru's wrists into one hand. With the other, he grabs at Tooru's jaw and forces his head up. “ _Look at me_.”

With a quiet sob, Tooru slowly blinks his eyes open. “ _Haj—_ ” His voice cracks into silence before he manages to recover it. “ _Hajime_.”

Hajime kneels and leans in close. “Don't you dare hurt yourself over me.”

Tooru lets out a choked noise, and the corner of his lips twitches up in a bitter smile. “Too late,” he whispers.

“You absolute _moron_ ,” Hajime tells him.

Tooru starts shaking, and Hajime sits on the ground and pulls Tooru against him. Tooru clutches at him, claws—and then fingers, as he fades into his human form—dig into Hajime's shirt.

Hajime looks down, and his gaze is drawn to the scars littered on Tooru's legs. He lets his hand rest on Tooru's thigh and traces one scar with his thumb. “What did you do to yourself?”

“You were _dead_ ,” Tooru sobs against him. It's not the answer to Hajime's question, but it's an explanation.

“I know,” Hajime says. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't fucking apologize,” Tooru grits out. Then, contradictory, Tooru's next words are an accusation: “You _left_ me.”

“Never again,” Hajime promises him. He wraps his arms around Tooru, careful of the new wounds on his hip, and holds him close.

Tooru puts his arms around Hajime and buries his face in Hajime's neck. He clings like his life depends on how tightly he can hold Hajime, and Hajime has no plans of letting go any time soon. “You better not. I missed you. So much,” Tooru chokes out. And then he keeps going, a constant litany of words like prayers: “Hajime. Hajime. Hajime. I love you. _Hajime_.”

 

Kenma is resting his head on Koushi's lap when he scents Keiji's return. There's a tightness in his chest that makes him let out a low whine, and Koushi runs his fingers soothingly through Kenma's fur.

But then there's another scent: familiar and foreign at the same time. Memory filters in with it, reminding Kenma of happier times. And he doesn't want to hope, doesn't want to feel the inevitable disappointment, but he can't _help it_. Koushi reaches for him as he picks himself up, but Kenma is already running in the direction of Keiji's scent.

Koushi calls after him. Kenma ignores him.

Kenma skids to a stop near the pond, and the only reason he slows at all is because he nearly rams into someone. The curve of his shoulders is familiar, and with the way Tooru is clutching at him—and then Hajime's scent hits him and Kenma nearly whimpers at the realization. Hajime is alive. There's hope. There's _hope_.

“ _Kenma_ ,” Keiji's call is broken and raw and overwhelmed.

Kenma's head snaps towards him, ears flatted to his head with how it's all _too much too much_ , but he _has_ to know. If Hajime is alive, then Koutarou, maybe—

It's him. It's— _it's really him_. Keiji has an arm around his waist, and Koutarou's face is lit up like he's just seen the most beautiful sight in the world. And he's looking at _Kenma_.

Kenma lets out a happy yip that he didn't really give his body the okay to do. He gets around Hajime and Tooru, and then freezes.

Because not only is Koutarou there, but Tetsurou, too. Tetsurou, who Kenma _knows_ died. Tetsurou, who Kenma held as the life bled out of him, stolen by prejudice and injustice. Tetsurou, whose body Keiji had to drag him away from, whose crumpled, lifeless form has haunted Kenma's nightmares for over twenty years. Tetsurou, who first broke Kenma out of his shell and fit him snugly in the center of a relationship between the four of them.

Kenma's paws are pounding on the grass before he even realizes its happening. He's not sure when he jumped, either. All he knows is that he's sitting on Tetsurou's chest, having knocked him flat on his back. Kenma shifts so quickly that it leaves him dizzy, and then he's dizzy for an entirely different reason: the taste of Tetsurou's lips, slotted against his own and warm and loving and _God, Kenma missed him so much_.

If this is a dream, Kenma doesn't want to wake up.

“How?” he tries to ask, but he refuses to stop kissing Tetsurou in order to actually form the words. He honestly isn't sure if he even cares about the answer. Tetsurou is underneath him, fingers carding through Kenma hair and hand planted at his waist, keeping him close.

“What am I?” Koutarou's voice asks from somewhere above Kenma. “Chop liver?”

In response, Kenma stops kissing Tetsurou just long enough to glance over his shoulder, grab Koutarou's hand, and drag him down to the ground next to them. Tetsurou takes advantage of his distraction to sit them both up and rearrange their position.

Kenma ends up half in Tetsurou's lap and half in Koutarou's with Keiji kneeling behind him. Kenma feels the fabric of Keiji's shirt brush over his back as Keiji leans forward and he and Tetsurou kiss over Kenma's shoulder, far more tender than the kisses with Kenma.

Kenma feels the tears welling in his eyes and decides he doesn't care. Koutarou grabs him with the arm that isn't pressed against Tetsurou's and pulls Kenma against him, shifting him to give Keiji and Tetsurou more room. Kenma clings to him, and Koutarou presses kisses Kenma's shoulder.

They're all tangled together, limbs and hands and bodies clutching at each other and trying to get as much contact as possible.

 

Daichi doesn't feel left out exactly. That's not quite right.

He's undeniably happy at the scene in front of him. There was a moment of sharp concern for Iwaizumi and Oikawa, but everything seems to have worked out, and now all his friends present are happily reunited with their soulmates.

Something heavy settles against his skin, sinking through his blood. It's not jealousy; instead, a thrumming insistence of _soon_ written across his flesh.

“Suga?” he asks, voice hoarse, to anyone who will listen.

Akaashi pulls away from where he has his arms wrapped around Bokuto and places a hand on Kenma's shoulder, murmuring something that Daichi can't hear.

Kenma pulls his nose away from Bokuto's neck in order to nod in the direction he'd come from. “That way.”

“Thanks,” Daichi breathes, and starts walking.

His heart hammers against his rib cage as he makes his way through the trees. Nervous doesn't even begin to cover it—but it's paired with a sense of impending elation. He can _feel_ how shaky his hands are. He's never felt something quite like this. Well, not in this lifetime.

In his last, there's one moment that compares. He was wearing a suit, and Suga was walking down the aisle towards him, and Daichi knew in that exact moment that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with that man. Til death do us part.

Daichi hears rustling, and he makes his way towards the sound. “Suga?”

The rustling stops, but Daichi keeps going, ducking under a low branch before he finds himself in a small clearing.

Suga is at the center of it, half-transformed, antlers reaching for the trees. Daichi notices the ring hanging from his neck, and his heart _aches_. “Koushi.”

Suga's hand goes up to his mouth, trying to stifle a shocked intake of breath. His eyes are wide—disbelieving, but not terrified like Oikawa's had been—and shining with tears.

“I thought—” Suga hisses in an incredulous whisper. “You were _dead_.”

“Well,” Daichi starts awkwardly. “I guess I went above and beyond our wedding vows.”

Suga chokes out a laugh, and his hand drops to hold the ring against his chest. “You always were an overachiever.” He lets his eyes close, tears finally falling on his cheeks, sighs, and begins muttering, “I knew Tooru had hallucinations, but I always thought I never... Why now?”

“I'm not a hallucination,” Daichi tells him. He steps forward cautiously. “The others are here, too, at the pond, and Hinata went back with Kageyama. It's real. We're here. I'm here.”

Suga's breath hitches and he slowly locks his gaze on Daichi. “I—” Suga starts, and then he stumbles toward Daichi.

Daichi holds his arms out, and Suga gingerly rests his fingers on Daichi's forearm. He jerks his hand back as soon as he makes contact, like he's surprised Daichi is actually solid to the touch. His palm is warm when he eventually places it—and leaves it—on Daichi's arm. He runs his hand over Daichi's skin, following the curve of Daichi's elbow and stepping closer in the same movement.

Daichi lets Suga's hands wander: ghost touches over the fabric of his shirt; a tight, fleeting grip on his wrist; the weight of Suga's palms on Daichi's shoulders; the tentative caress on Daichi's cheek.

It's then that Daichi finally breaks and reaches for Suga. He catches Suga's hand against his cheek before Suga can retreat. Holding Suga's wrist in place, Daichi turns to press a kiss into his palm.

Whatever spell Suga had been under shatters. He lets out a sob, and then he's pushing closer, wrapping his free arm around Daichi and holding on as hard as he can.

“It's—” Suga chokes out softly. “It's a-actually you?”

Daichi pulls Suga to his chest, letting Suga push his face against Daichi's shoulder. “I believe it is.”

Suga's arm comes down from where it's wrapped around Daichi's back to weakly punch him in the side. “You _ass_ ,” he gasps. “How?”

“I don't know,” Daichi admits. “From what we can figure out, we were given a second chance for some reason. We don't remember everything from our previous lives, but... it's coming back.”

Daichi brings one hand up to Suga's head, slipping his fingers through Suga's hair. “I remember how soft your hair is, though memory doesn't compete with the real thing. I remember bits and pieces of days with you.” Daichi lets his hand slide down to Suga's neck, fingers grazing over the chain hanging there. “I remember our wedding.”

Suga huffs out a laugh, tentative and overwhelmed. “Do you remember our dance?”

Daichi feels his brow furrow. “Dance?”

Suga peeks up at him, eyes rimmed red from tears but hopeful. “Do... you want to remember?”

Daichi presses a kiss to his forehead. “Of course I do. Teach me? It will probably help remind me.”

So Suga takes Daichi by the hands and leads him to the center of the clearing. Daichi's steps are fumbling at first, then more confident as his body beings to remember the memory of dancing with Suga at their wedding reception. He stumbles a few times, but Suga doesn't seem to mind.

In fact, despite the tears lingering in his eyelashes, Suga can't seem to stop smiling.

At least, not until they all regroup at Akaashi and Kenma's apartments. Because that seems to be when things begin to go south.

Daichi's not sure who brings it up first, and it's something that needs to eventually be dealt with, anyway. But he'd hoped—maybe, for a little longer in the bliss of having Suga back in his arms.

 

Hinata sinks deeper into the couch, leaning heavily on Tobio. Maybe if he makes himself small enough—normally he's always trying to make himself _bigger_ , but for once, that's not the case—then he can get away from all the passive-aggressive arguing flying over his head.

It's something he always liked about Tobio. Maybe he wasn't the greatest at communicating, but Shouyou always _knew_ when there was something going on with him. There wasn't any of this thinly-veiled concern or reservations. Tobio, even in his silence, is easy to read. Whatever's bothering him is straightforward, even if he has yet to figure out what sort of complex emotions he might feel about it.

Like, right now, for instance.

“We can't just... abandon everything,” Bokuto is saying quietly.

Something flashes over Akaashi's face, but it's gone before Shouyou can properly read his expression. “We understand.”

Kenma scoffs. “No, we really don't. I'm not losing you again.”

Right now, Shouyou feels Tobio's arm tense where it's wrapped around Shouyou's shoulders. The... debate (Shouyou doesn't exactly _want_ to call it an argument, but it is) has been going on for about an hour now. They couldn't even manage one day of simply enjoying each others' company before the question came up of _What next?_

Shouyou figures it can't really be helped. He and the other humans all have lives that they've built up—new lives, independent of their soulmates that have been in Amsterdam this whole time. It's hard to give up everything they've done.

It's hard, yeah, but Shouyou's already made his choice. There isn't a choice at all, really.

“No, don't touch me,” Kenma snarls suddenly.

Shouyou looks up just in time to see Kuroo's hand jerk back.

“Kenma,” Keiji scolds softly. “Perhaps, we should do this la—”

“ _No_ ,” Kenma bites out. “You're not going to put me through this again.” He motions wildly to himself and Akaashi, and then gestures with his other hand at Oikawa and Suga, too. “You're not putting _us_ through this again.”

“I think,” Daichi begins tentatively. “That being dead and separated are two different things.”

Iwaizumi's gaze glances between Kuroo and Kenma. “Daichi is right. I'm not sure they're comparable.”

Keiji places his hand on Kenma's shoulder, and Kenma deflates some.

“What Kenma is trying to say,” Suga says calmly, though Shouyou can see his hands are clenched where they rest in his lap. “Is that we left everything behind once too, when you were killed. We had to relocate while we were still grieving.” His gaze flicks over to Daichi. “I want you to make your own decision, but perhaps consider the fact that the universe hasn't exactly treated us fairly.”

Oikawa scoffs quietly. “Fair? You want to talk about fair when by some miracle your husband is now back from the dead? The universe almost seems to be trying to make up for what it did to us.”

“Tooru,” Iwaizumi says quietly.

“Be grateful,” Oikawa snorts. “We could still be alone and _broken_.”

“You don't get to talk when Hajime wants to stay here,” Kenma snaps. “They're trying to leave us alone, _again_.”

“We're not. That's not at all—” Kuroo starts.

And then the entire room dissolves into hushed but angry conversation. It's like they don't _want_ to hurt each other, all while knowing every word they speak is another press of salt into an open wound.

“Please,” Shouyou pleads.

Tobio glances at him. He's stayed especially quiet this entire time. Shouyou would like to say it's because Tobio knows him well enough to know Shouyou would never be able to leave him. Unfortunately, that's not entirely true, because Shouyou can tell how _scared_ he is.

Shouyou groans and buries his face into Tobio's armpit if only because that's how far he's sunk into the couch.

“Shut up!” Tobio barks suddenly, arm squeezing protectively tight around Shouyou.

The room falls quiet, and Shouyou peeks out to see Bokuto with a chastised expression.

“We shouldn't be arguing about something this dumb,” Tobio states.

Shouyou can _feel_ the tension in his body, and that's when Shouyou knows he has to do _something_ to fix this.

Emerging from where he was hiding against Tobio, Shouyou stands up, if only to make up for the fact that everyone else in the room would be towering over him otherwise. Tobio's arm slips from his shoulders as he moves, but Shouyou catches his hand as it falls and intertwines their fingers.

“Tobio is right,” Shouyou starts. He locks gazes with Bokuto, Kuroo, and Daichi in turn. No one has outright said their decisions, but Shouyou knows that they're the most dedicated to the lives they've had so far. “And so is Suga. My opinion probably means nothing because I just graduated and haven't... done anything with my life. And if you need time to get everything settled, then fine—work it out. But if you think for one second you can abandon your soulmate and still feel as happy as you did in those memories, then it's not me you have argue with and it's not them either.

“It's that feeling at drew us all here. Whatever it was, it wasn't fucking around. I don't know if it's fate or destiny or—maybe it's just love. That should be enough. The decision should be easy. I know it is for me.”

Tobio, behind him, lets out a choked noise. Shouyou squeezes his hand.

Daichi opens his mouth to speak, and Shouyou readies himself for the clamor of voices, telling him to leave it to the adults and to sit down and sit still.

Instead, Daichi says: “You've grown up, Hinata.”

“He's right,” Kuroo says. “Oikawa, too. We've been given a second chance. We shouldn't waste it.”

Akaashi clears his throat. He glances warily at Kenma and then squeezes his eyes shut, leaves them closed as he speaks. “Just so we're clear... Relationships such as ours are still being hunted.”

Suga nods, once, solemn. “Even here... You're not just giving up your the lives you've had the past twenty-five years. You'd be giving up a lot more of your freedoms, too, and we'd have to be careful—”

Kenma suddenly gets up and escapes into his bedroom, door closing resolutely behind him.

“Ah,” Akaashi says, and stands to go after him, but Bokuto beats him to it, slipping surprisingly quietly after Kenma.

Slowly, Akaashi sits back down.

“It's getting late,” Daichi says eventually. He stands. “We should...”

“Stay,” Suga says immediately. “Well, not here, but—”

“I'll go with Iwa-chan to his hotel, then,” Oikawa says. “Give you two some space.”

Iwaizumi grunts. “I'm pretty sure you just want the people staying in the room down the hall to hate me.”

Oikawa's eyes sparkle. “I hadn't thought of that! Thank you, Iwa-chan. I'll make sure to be extra loud.”

Keiji pins Oikawa with a withering look. “Please get out of my apartment.”

Oikawa sticks his tongue out, but then he's grabbing Iwaizumi by his elbow and hauling him up and towards the door.

Shouyou hears Iwaizumi muttering as he passes by, “Tooru, you don't even know where we're g _oing_.”

“Come on,” Tobio says quietly, and Shouyou follows.

Because it's no choice at all. Shouyou would follow Tobio to the ends of the earth if he had to.

 

Suga isn't going to cry. He tells himself this, on repeat, as he and Daichi slip through the hall to Suga and Oikawa's apartment. He's been telling himself that since the argument started, too, and he wants to have faith in Daichi, faith that Daichi will always make the best decision—whichever that may be.

But damn, if the thought of losing him again doesn't hurt like a knife to the heart.

He wonders, bleakly, that if Daichi left, would he be able to to convince himself it was all a dream? Could he go back to mourning, as if he'd never known Daichi's alive? Would he prefer that, to knowing that the life they shared wasn't enough to make Daichi choose him a second time?

“Suga,” Daichi murmurs.

Suga realizes he's stopped, just inside the door to his apartment. He blinks up at Daichi, teeth automatically going to worry his bottom lip.

Daichi takes a step towards him, and Suga puts up his hand in between them. Daichi freezes, concern taking over his features.

“Are you happy?” Suga asks, voice too quiet to hide his weakness. “With your life?”

Daichi's brow furrows. “Suga, that doesn't matter.”

“It does,” Suga whispers. “I don't want you to throw your life away for me.”

“I wouldn't be throwing my life away,” Daichi states, as if this problem is very very simple. He's always so black-and-white. Much more than Suga, at least. It always makes decisions so much easier for him.

“You have to approach this realistically,” Suga says, though his voice cracks halfway through his sentence. “You'd commit yourself to me, again, but it wouldn't be the same. They still hunt humans for relationships with magical beings. We might survive, but it'd be in hiding. Even here. You'd be giving up everything you've done in this life.”

Daichi nods, once, slowly. He seems to be processing, and then his gaze hardens. “Can I ask a question?”

Suga nods, biting his lip again.

“I'm not sure how long its been since we were last together,” Daichi says. “But at least twenty-seven years. And in all that time, did... did you move on from me?”

“Dai, no—of course _not_ ,” Suga chokes out. “I took vows, I wouldn't cheat—”

Daichi holds his hands up, placating. “I don't mean it like that. I mean, if you were in my place, would your choice be to abandon me for the sake of your career, or whatever else is important to you? Did you abandon us just because I wasn't there?”

Suga's not going to cry. He isn't. He _isn't_. “Never,” he whispers. “Never, I—”

And suddenly, he needs Daichi to know. He needs to _prove_ it, as much as he can, and so Suga lurches forward and snags Daichi's hand. He drags him through the apartment, and Daichi follows without a hint a protest. Suga's chest aches with the familiarity of the scenario, something that he's sure happened thousands of times before, a lifetime ago.

Suga lets Daichi go in the doorway to his bedroom, and Daichi hovers there while Suga goes to the bedside table and picks up a small velvet box.

It's the same one Daichi used to propose, years ago. Suga's not sure if Daichi had known he'd kept it, even in his past life. He takes it to Daichi, pulls it open to show off the engagement ring—pearl surrounded by blue topaz. “I've never—” Suga manages around the block in his throat. “I've kept everything.”

He shoves the box into Daichi's hands, feeling tears prick at his eyes. He fumbles with the chain around his neck, fingers refusing to cooperate until he finally manages to open the latch, and pulls their wedding rings from the chains. Both, because how could ever go a day without some piece of Daichi still with him? He always wears both.

He doesn't say this aloud, but Daichi's eyes go soft and loving and compassionate, and Suga knows that Daichi understands.

Daichi carefully closes the box with the engagement ring in it and sets it down. Gentle, he picks up Suga's ring from his open palm, and turns Suga's left hand over to slip the band on his finger. As reverent as the day they married, Daichi lifts Suga's hand, presses his lips over Suga's skin, brushes them over the ring. His gaze stays trained on Suga's the entire time.

Suga's breath catches in his throat, and his mantra finally fails him as the tears fall. Clumsy but sure, Suga fits the other ring over Daichi's ring finger. He keeps Daichi's left hand between his own, unwilling to let go. He doesn't want to let go, not now, not ever.

“Hey,” Daichi says, and Suga's gaze flicks up from their linked hands. Daichi's free hand comes up to cup Suga's cheek, brushing tears away with his thumb. “We're going to talk about this, okay? But I want you to know I'm not leaving you. We're going to figure this out. It might take time—I might need time to work everything out, but...”

Suga swallows around the lump in his throat. “Dai...”

“I took vows, too, okay?” Daichi says, firm. “It doesn't matter if they were this life or my past one. I'm not leaving you. Not again.”

Suga nods, and Daichi pulls him close.

They stay like that, for a long time. And then, curled together on the bed. They talk about the lives they've led. Suga, how he's survived here, taken care of Tooru and been taken care of by Keiji. Daichi, how he's grown up all over again, gone to school, started work as a civil engineer. Suga doesn't try to sugarcoat the pain he's been through, and Daichi doesn't try to hide the satisfaction and pride that blooms from his current life.

They talk late into the night, lay each other bare all over again. And even after they've discussed everything, even with Daichi knowing exactly how hard this life with Suga is likely to be, his decision is the same.

 _I took vows, too_.

And after that, Daichi reminds Suga of that fact in a different way. Lays him bare in a different way. Reacquaints his body with the touch of Suga's skin and the taste of his lips and the curve of his hips under Daichi's firm hands.

There's going to be hardships. The plans they once had are in tatters, now, replaced with plans just to keep each other close.

Yet, wrapped in Daichi's arms and drifting into sleep, Suga can't help but feel that things are going to be okay, for the first time in a very long time. He threads Daichi's fingers together with his, the weight of Daichi's wedding ring against Suga's skin a familiar promise.

 

“I don't have a bathtub for you to relax in, I hope you know,” Hajime deadpans.

Tooru huffs. “Was _relaxing_ really what you had planned for tonight?”

Hajime grins, wolfish. The streetlight casts Tooru in warm colors, but his eyes reflect like that of an animal's in the dim. “After what I do to you, you're going to wish you had that bathtub.”

“I already wish I had the bathtub,” Tooru retorts. “I always want a bathtub.”

“So my initial statement stands with good reason,” Hajime hums.

Tooru must realize he's been tricked, and he pouts. “Iwa-chan,” he whines.

Hajime presses a kiss to Tooru's jaw to appease him.

They walk in silence for a while. Hajime finds his gaze drawn to the lights of the city reflecting off the canals. There's a reason he would easily give up the life he's currently living in favor of staying here. Amsterdam is beautiful, and while Hajime has never particularly favored water, he knows that Tooru would be much more at ease here than the concrete city Hajime currently works in.

“Don't think too hard, Iwa-chan,” Tooru chirps. “You might strain something.”

Hajime scowls and uses the arm he has wrapped around Tooru to pinch his waist.

Tooru yelps and jumps away from Hajime's hand—which subsequently means he jumps _into_ Hajime.

And of course, because he always does: Hajime catches him. Tooru's weight settles against Hajime's side, sticking there like a thistle, and Tooru hums contentedly despite Hamije's retaliation.

“So, what is this Iwa-chan's life like?” Tooru asks. “What does Iwa-chan do?”

“I'm the only one here, Dumbass, you don't have to say 'Iwa-chan' constantly.” Hajime glances out of the corner of his eye to where Tooru's gaze on him his clear and calculating.

“But it's been so long since I've gotten to say it!” Tooru says brightly, and Hajime knows _instantly_ that something is bothering him. “Iwa-chan, Iwa-chan!”

“God, you're annoying,” Hajime murmurs, and presses a kiss to Tooru's check. “What's going on?”

“You didn't answer my question,” Tooru says.

“Petroleum engineer,” Hajime says. “Officially, I was here on business to attend an energy conference at De Ceuval.”

“And unofficially?” Tooru asks innocently.

“Unofficially, I was following my instinct. Apparently, my heart always knows how to find you.”

Tooru goes quiet at that. Hajime pinches him again.

“Ow!” Tooru squeaks. “What was that for?”

“What's going on in that head of yours?”

Tooru lets out a grumbling noise. “Stupid, stupid, Iwa-chan.”

“Tooru,” Hajime warns.

“It's good to have you back,” Tooru says softly.

“And?” Hajime presses. “I know that's not all you're thinking about. Spit it out.”

“It's just... We grew up together, but now... You... I wasn't there. And you seem fine. Good ol' Iwa-chan. You didn't need me.”

Hajime stops walking and turns to look at Tooru. “Of course I didn't need you,” he deadpans. “You're not oxygen, Tooru.”

Tooru stops alongside him, gaze hurt even as his expression hardens into something ugly.

“I'm not going to say some romantic shit like 'I'm going to breath you in for the rest of life,' because it's dumb. You're not food or water; you're the love of my life. I can live without you. You've been living without me for the past thirty years. You're here. You're alive. A hot mess, but alive. You survived.”

“But I do need you,” Tooru sniffles.

“No, you don't,” Hajime says. “You're strong and more than capable of doing well without me around. But that doesn't mean you have to like it. That doesn't mean it didn't hurt, being alone. That's what it was like for me at least.” Hajime reaches for Tooru's hand. He flinches away at first, but then lets Hajime touch him. “Yes, I had a life without you. But I'll be damned if I think it's better than the one I had with you in it.”

Tooru sniffles again. “You're mean.”

Hajime tugs Tooru closer. There's not a reason for it, other than that he wants Tooru in his personal space. He wants Tooru, always. Says as much aloud. “I'm not going to lie and say that I missed you constantly, because I didn't know. But now that I have you back, now that I remember, I'm not planning on letting you go in this lifetime. You mean so much to me, Tooru. More than I could ever put into words.”

Tooru pouts at him. “You're really very bad with words in general.”

“Yeah,” Hajime admits. “I am. Would you like me to show you, instead?”

Tooru's breath huffs out across Hajime's lips. “Please.”

Hajime presses his lips against Tooru in a quick closed-mouth kiss. He threads their fingers together, then, and starts walking. “Then come on. Keep up. I thought you wanted to piss off the hotel management before sunrise.”

Tooru grunts out a mild protest, but lets Hajime drag him along.

In the room, Hajime presses Tooru into the bed, letting his weight remind Tooru intimately of his presence. He trails his lips over Tooru's skin, inks the memory of his touch into Tooru's flesh. Reminds him that even all those years ago, that Hajime chose Tooru then. Now, this, laying Tooru out across a hotel bed in Amsterdam, is Hajime choosing Tooru all over again. This is his promise, words never spoken but heart heavy with the weight of commitment.

He doesn't speak, but he tells Tooru in other ways: _I love you_ painted across his skin, bitten into his lips, caressed against his cheek, kissed across the scars on Tooru's thighs. _I'm not leaving you. I'd always choose you in the end. You're everything that truly matters to me_.

Hajime isn't a romantic.

But here, with Tooru in his arms, legs tangled together as they breathe in each others' air, Hajime is aware of the same feeling, the same muse, that drives poets. There's a poem in Tooru's soft kisses; there's a poem in his sated gaze, happy and reassured by Hajime's touch. There's a poem in their love.

 

Kenma has regrets.

He didn't mean to snap. He was angry, yes, but he didn't need to take it out on Tetsurou. Keiji is right. These sort of decisions should probably be left when Kenma's not liable to be needlessly emotional. They have to be rational about these sort of things. They need to consider logic and feasibility and—and—not the fact that Kenma's heart feels like it's on the verge of breaking.

Koutarou follows him into the room. Kenma is burrowed under the covers facing away from the door. Koutarou doesn't bother trying to extract him. Instead, he wraps his arms around Kenma's blanket burrito and buries his nose in Kenma's hair.

They stay like that. Quiet, comforting, as the number of voices outside begin to dwindle. He can still hear Koushi and Daichi—smell them, too—for a bit longer before they, too, fade from his senses, though he strains to keep track of them.

He doesn't realize he's half-shifted until Koutarou lets out a happy, pleased, gasp.

Kenma feels his face heat. He's usually so much more... under control. But Koutarou just nuzzles against the fur of Kenma's ears, holds him tighter, and lets out a content little hum.

The door opens, but neither of them turn to look.

Keiji sits on the bed in front of Kenma, quiet.

Kenma glances at him through his bangs. He takes a deep breath, a sigh more than anything else, and mumbles out, “I'm sorry.”

“I'm not the one you need to apologize to,” Keiji says, impassive.

“It's alright,” Tetsurou's voice washes over Kenma from somewhere out of sight.

“No,” Kenma whispers. He musters up a glare, and Keiji just smiles softly at him in response. “Keiji's right.”

Kenma tries to sit up to turn towards Tetsurou, but Koutarou has his arms wrapped around the blanket Kenma is in and he finds himself trapped. He wriggles a bit, but Koutarou just mumbles something incomprehensible at him.

Kenma gives up with a soft wheeze. “Come here. I can't move.”

Keiji makes a noise that sounds a little bit like he's choking. It takes Kenma a moment to realize he's _laughing_.

“Stop that,” Kenma snaps at him. “It's not my fault Kou is cuddly.”

“You know,” Tetsurou purrs as he comes into view. “I think I've had fantasies about this.”

Koutarou lifts his head at that. “Pretty sure those are memories.”

Kenma feels his cheeks heat. “What, looking for an encore?”

Keiji stands to give Tetsurou room. He pulls out the desk chair and settles in, gaze calculating and fond all at once. “I wouldn't mind.”

“But we were trying to have a serious conversation,” Tetsurou says as he sits down on the edge of the bed, taking Keiji's place.

“We have time,” Keiji murmurs. He shifts, barely, on the chair, and it clicks for Kenma. He makes a face at Keiji. Keiji catches his stare. “Don't blame me,” he quips, about as petulant as Kenma's ever heard him. “The pheromones you've been putting out all week finally got to me.”

Koutarou runs his lips over the edge of Kenma's ear. It's not exactly particularly sexual, but his ears are sensitive, and a shudder works its way down Kenma's spine.

“You're teaming up on me,” Kenma huffs.

“Do you mind?” Koutarou asks, paired with a kiss to the back of Kenma's neck. He can't really feel it through his hair, but the sentiment is appreciated he supposes.

Kenma is about to retort something along the lines of _of course not_ and _I've been horny all day because of my damn rut_. But instead he glances towards Tetsurou and says, “I don't want this to be a goodbye.”

“It's not,” Tetsurou says instantly. He brushes Kenma's bangs back and lets his fingers trail over Kenma's jaw. He leans down and presses a kiss to the corner of Kenma's mouth. “It's a welcome home.”

“You'll stay?” Kenma tries to keep himself from sounding too hopeful. “You said you had research—”

“I'll get it sent over,” Tetsurou says. “I might have to take some time to figure stuff out, but I'm not leaving you alone again.”

“I don't think anyone really wanted to leave,” Koutarou says quietly. “It's just... hard to process.”

“I'm not sure we could even if we tried,” Tetsurou adds, fingers petting through a lock of Kenma's hair repeatedly. “There's something that ties us together. The idea alone of leaving makes me feel sick.”

“That makes two of us,” Keiji admits quietly. He takes a deep breath. “I'm glad you've decided to stay, Tetsu.” And then his gaze flicks, questioningly, to over Kenma's shoulder.

It takes Koutarou a moment to realize he's being watched, and he jumps a bit, jostling Kenma, when he does. “As if I'd even consider it!” Koutarou announces. “I love you guys too much.”

Tetsurou sends Koutarou a look. “Says the one who was worried about everything not two days ago.”

“Hey!” Koutarou retorts. “I didn't have as many memories back, so I should get a pass.”

Kenma snorts. “Now that we've exhausted the serious conversation, can someone let me out and fuck me?”

Tetsurou laughs and begins peeling Koutarou's arms off of Kenma's blanket cocoon. As he helps Kenma get out, he glances over at Keiji. “Just going to watch? I think perhaps Bo could use some reinforcement that we love him beyond just the memories.”

“Well,” Keiji drawls, rising from the chair. “When you put it that way, it can't be helped.” He tilts Tetsurou's jaw up to sneak a kiss before he settles on the end of the bed with a rare glimmer in his eyes.

Except it's not rare—not really. It's just been gone, for while. And now that Koutarou and Tetsurou are back, Kenma and Keiji feel like themselves again.

 

Two days later—once things have cooled down, once everyone has had a chance to breathe and feel and fall in love—Koutarou finds himself sitting on Suga and Oikawa's couch with Kenma in his lap. The worst of his rut has passed, and he's been in affectionate cuddle mode for the past day or so. Not that Koutarou is complaining in the _least_.

He does, however, make a noise of protest, when Kenma rouses from his place leaning against Koutarou's chest and sits up straight. Whatever conversation is happening—the one Koutarou wasn't paying attention to because he was busy watching the gentle movement of Kenma's chest as he breathes—Kenma decides to interrupt.

“I hate to be the one to say it,” he says, and suddenly there's a hush in the cramped living room. “But this isn't gong to last.”

Hinata looks instantly stricken. “What do you mean? Haven't we all already decided to stay here?”

Kenma nods, once. “But there are still rules.”

Koutarou catches Keiji glancing towards Suga from his place on the floor next to Kuroo. “Well, yes, but...”

Suga clears his throat. “We may have a way to circumvent them.”

Oikawa lets out something akin to a squawk. “What—how—how long have you known this information?”

Keiji leans against Kuroo's shoulder. “You had your own way of coping, Tooru. Suga and I had ours. It's true that there are currently rules in place about relationships between humans and creatures. But we may be able to get in contact with someone who is powerful enough to disregard those rules, should we... find their favor.”

Kageyama makes a face. He seems to be impressed, but unhappy about that fact. “You're talking about gaining favor with a god?”

“It's been done,” Suga says softly. “It's not impossible.”

“How do we ensure we _do_ find their favor?” Iwaizumi asks calmly.

“We summon the right god,” Suga answers easily. “It's likely we don't need anyone very powerful. Just enough to spook the legislators into realizing they've made a mistake. So we hit low on the totem pole, find one with a good disposition.”

“Do you have someone in mind?” Kuroo asks.

Oikawa scoffs quietly. “This is going to go horribly.”

“In fact we do,” Keiji announces. “We're going to summon the Sun.”

 

There are countless prayers each day. Endless are the pleas for simple things. She can't answer all of them—but she tries.

And then: as the sun's first light dips over that part of the world, she feels a pull. This one is stronger than the daily thoughts of believers. This is different. Before she even realizes, she's being drawn towards it.

As she nears, she allows her celestial form to melt away into something more suitable among mortals. She's never been as good at human appearances as the object of her affections, but she passes well enough, even if she can't quite stop herself from glowing. As she shakes golden flecks from her hair, she finds herself standing in a circle of ten mortals.

A summoning! She should have figured it out.

Well, she's intrigued now.

“Sun Goddess,” one of them addresses, bowing. Her attention turns to him, and gently, she prods against his mind to pluck out his name: Keiji. He continues, “Please accept our deepest apologies for calling you. We seek your favor.”

Yachi cocks her head at him. She could take the information from his being—even now, she knows so, so much. Despite this, for a moment, she feels worshiped, and she can feel the group's desperation, their hope.

“It has been a long time since mortals have intrigued me,” she informs Keiji. She spins in a circle to get a good look at all of them. “But it's also been a long time since I've felt human.”

Deciding, she sits down at the center of the circle, facing Keiji. “Very well. You may call me Yachi. Tell me your stories, each of you, and I'll do what I can to help.”

 

Koutarou doesn't know what he expected, but it wasn't this. Clearly, Keiji isn't sure what to do with this situation either, despite being the most prepared for summoning a god. They're all sitting, and Yachi has made her way around the circle, asking each of them for their account of what's happened. Now, she's just getting back to Keiji.

Yachi leans back on her palms where she's sitting on the ground, little flakes of gold falling from her hair as she shifts. “What is your wish?”

“We wish...” Keiji starts, pauses to collect his words, and then continues, more determined. “We want to be together with our soulmates, unhindered.”

“Soulmates,” Yachi repeats, as if she's tasting the word. “You mortals come up with interesting words for the same thing.”

“So, we were right?” Tetsurou asks, voice tentative. “About the soulmates being real?”

Yachi tilts her head in his direction. “In a way.” She sits up in order to gesture with her hand as she speaks, an action so distinctively _human_ that Koutarou forgets he's talking to a god. “All things were created with a dichotomy inherently woven into them. This juxtaposition creates balance. In your words, my soulmate would be the Moon. There are just certain parts of the world that are _meant to be together_ , like all of you.”

Yachi stands, and claps her hands together determinedly. “Unfortunately, I can do nothing for your witch's law. Mortals were created to govern yourselves, and I don't have to power to simply undo the work of thousands of mortal minds. Not alone, at least. As is, I'll do what I can. I intend to give each of you a life to match that of your partners. I believe this will also stop your witches from hunting you.”

Yachi turns to Hinata, reaching out to pull him to his feet. “Shouyou, I have seen your heart—may you learn what it means to have the heart of a dragon.”

Hinata's eyes go wide, and breathes out a soft, “Whoa.”

“Hajime,” Yachi begins, working her way around the circle. “You have a lion's strength. I hope you find your wings as a griffin.

“Daichi, you trust yourself to be dependable. You don't remember it, but you used to long to accompany your soulmate. Man you run together as a centaur.

“Tetsurou. You live to protect those you love. I think, as a naga, you will find they are your true treasure.

Finally, Yachi turns to Koutarou, and he feels a thrill of anticipation run through him as she reaches for him.

“Koutarou,” she says. Her voice is serious, but her smile is soft and her hold gentle. “You've battle against lows and soared in your highs. To you, I give the phoenix, so you will always rise again.”

Koutarou feels something rush through him—an adrenaline spike, almost, except that it leaves him warm and breathless and invincible. Something tingles, under his skin, ready to taste the air, and it takes Koutarou a moment to swallow the instinct to give over to it.

“Thank you,” Koutarou manages.

“Why... did you do this for us?” Daichi asks.

Yachi tilts his head again. “I do not know the pain of losing someone you love, but I do know the longing felt in separation. What I ask for in return is that you help others like you. I'm sure you were not the only lives affected. Guide them to me, and I—”

Yachi disappears.

“What happened?” Oikawa squawks.

“Shit,” Suga breathes, looking up. “Look.”

Koutarou whips his head up, gaze pinpointed on the sun. At least—what's left of it, as shadow begins to swallow the light.

Keiji lets out a shaky breath. “This eclipse wasn't planned.”

“What does that mean?” Kuroo asks.

Keiji presses his lips together, and says nothing.

 

The Moon hasn't paid attention to mortal affairs for a very, very long time.

“Yachi,” she scolds, only halfheartedly. “You can't get so swept up in the earth's problems. You need to stop babying them.”

“I know, Shimizu!” Yachi huffs. “But—they summoned me.”

“Whatever for?”

“They...” Yachi waves her hands about frantically. “I think they really need help, Shimizu,” Yachi says, instead of answering directly.

“I'm not going to meddle in their problems.”

“They're breaking apart their destined!” Yachi says. She reaches for Shimizu, clutching at her hand, and the contact—so rare, so precious—sends a jolt through Shimizu. “Imagine if we were split apart.” Yachi threads their fingers together. “Imagine if this was taken from us.”

And—because she loves her Sun—Shimizu does. She imagines a world that's hers to govern without Yachi's guiding light to keep it warm. She imagines a earth that is cold and magic-touched but hopeless. She imagines despair. She imagines desolation.

“What do you want to do?” Shimizu asks, finally.

Yachi lets out a cheer, and grabs at Shimizu's other hand too. “The humans came up with a word for their bonded. They called them soulmates. Let's make so that they can always find their soulmates. So they can't be kept apart.”

Shimizu sighs softly, and knows she's already given in. She hasn't paid attention to mortal affairs for a very, very long time, but maybe, sometimes, they need guidance. Maybe she should pay more attention, maybe she could learn something from them in turn.

“Okay,” Shimizu says. “I know what we can do.”

Yachi cheers again, and tiptoes to kiss Shimizu's cheek in celebration.

 

When Yachi returns, she bears good news. She speaks to them for not more than a minute, only to tell them that the Moon had agreed to help, and all would be well.

By the end of the day, all is well.

Suga leans into Daichi's side, hand hiding his snickers as Hinata flails about in his new dragon form. Daichi has yet to try transforming; Yachi didn't exactly give them instruction manuals. He's sure there will a round of laughter at his expense when the time comes.

But, meanwhile: he's content to hold Suga in his arms, to watch Bokuto and Hinata almost set a tree on fire.

Eventually, Oikawa comes over, inserting himself under Daichi's other arm for protection from dragons, as if Daichi is at all likely to actually be able to protect him.

“Shouyou wouldn't eat you,” Suga assures Oikawa with a pat on his arm.

“You don't know that,” Oikawa retorts with a pout. “It's a dragon's natural instinct to think sirens are tasty snacks.”

“Shouyou wouldn't eat you,” Suga repeats. “You're friends. Friends don't eat friends.”

Oikawa looks dubious, but allows it to drop. Instead, he wanders over to bother Iwaizumi and Kuroo.

“I missed this,” Suga breathes out.

Daichi feels it in his heart, in his soul, if not in his mind. “Me too.”

“Are you going to try transforming?” Suga prods.

Daichi lets out a wary hum. “That's okay.”

Suga turns in his arms, facing Daichi. “Come on, Dai.”

The sun is just setting behind Suga, and the light turns his hair golden. Daichi really should reply, but instead he leans down and kisses Suga.

When he pulls back, Suga smirks at him. “Don't think that gets you out of it.”

Suga reaches for Daichi's arm, and that's when Daichi notices it. “Suga, wait.” He tugs on their joined hands.

“What?” Suga asks, and, as he turns, his breath hitches.

On the inside of their wrists are two matching marks. They're abstract, swirling designs, inked in black on their skin.

“Hey, Keiji,” Daichi hears Kuroo call out. “Should I be worried about the fact I don't remember getting this tattoo?”

Suga giggles, nervous breathlessness eating into his laughter. He glances over his shoulder at Kuroo. “You too?”

“Same here,” Iwaizumi says. “Mine and Tooru's are the same.”

They end up in a circle, comparing the marks.

“I think they're because we're soulmates,” Kuroo says. “Look, mine and Keiji's match. I bet Kou's and Kenma's do too.” He calls them over to confirm his theory.

“What about Hinata and Kageyama?” Daichi asks.

Kageyama turns at the sound of his name. “What?”

“Did you and Shouyou get matching wrist tattoos?” Suga asks.

Kageyama blinks at them. “We're having a bit of a different issue at the moment.”

Behind him, Hinata flaps his wings frantically.

“This idiot got him—” Hinata reaches forward and grabs Kageyama, shoving him into his chest and then wraps his wings around himself, trapping Kageyama against him.

Oikawa snorts. “He's gotten himself stuck like that, hasn't he?”

“Absolutely,” Kenma deadpans.

 

Five years ago, the world changed.

Five years ago, ten friends petitioned a god.

Five years ago, the witch's rule was overturned.

Five years ago, Tsukishima Kei woke up with an odd mark on the inside of his wrist.

Five years ago, like many others, thanks to the actions of ten desperate lovers, Kei found his soulmate by following the red string of fate tugging his heart toward Yamaguchi Tadashi.

Five minutes ago, Kei and Tadashi's flight landed in Amsterdam. They have some old friends to meet—friends from a lifetime ago.

Love knows no bounds, not even death.

 

**Author's Note:**

> tbh this was probs heavily insp by bell book and candle so please go read that if you haven't it's phenomenal  
> naga kuroo insp by finnthebunneh even tho their naga kuroo is a very different au lmao sorry it's not kurodai
> 
> highkey i want to write bo's first phoenix reincarnation. we'll see if i ever get around to it.


End file.
